I am slightly embarrassed to tell you that this particular blog post started out in life as a private email to K8 the Gr8. She never received it, as I realised halfway through that it’s a bit late now to be worrying about my fellow bloggers thinking I’m an eejit… might as well just publish it on the WWW, eh?
The thing is, I’m a bit nervous about the whole Blog Awards thing. Firstly, there is a conference on next weekend, which nearly all of my friends have paid £50 to attend. This means I still have nobody to accompany me to Dublin, and that’s a wee bit daunting in itself. However, I am a girl who moved to Glasgow all by herself at the tender age of 18, and travelled alone to New York a few years ago, so I’m pretty certain I’ll be able to cope with an overnight stay in Dee Sowt.
The real issue is that I have no idea what to expect, and that scares me a bit. I’ve seen photographs from other blog awards ceremonies, and they seem to be very posh affairs, with dashing gentlemen in tuxedos and lovely ladies in fine silk dresses. I have never been to a dressy-uppy event in my entire adult life (as I am not a dressy-uppy person), but I was willing to do so for the sake of meeting my favourite bloggers and seeing my name on a shortlist. I even spent time planning exactly what I can stop eating in order to be able to afford a dress. Then, however, I received my booking confirmation email, and it has thrown me into a panic by saying that there is no dress code.
Being a complicated person, I can’t take that to mean “there is no dress code,” and cheerfully turn up in my casual clothes. Instead, I am spending many happy hours obsessing about the number of different ways there now are for me to make a complete fool of myself.
Firstly, what if there is no dress code, but it’s generally accepted that everyone dresses up in ballgowns, pearls, diamond shoes etc., and I land in the middle of it all wearing trainers and a John Lennon t-shirt?
Secondly, what if I do make an effort but look positively shabby next to all the glamorous people who attend awards ceremonies as often as I dream about it?
Thirdly – and possibly most horrifying of all – what if there really is no dress code, and everyone’s dressed casually, and I have felt that there was in fact an implied dress code, and I turn up in a dress I’ve sold all my belongings (cat included) to pay for, and everyone in the entire building stops talking and turns to stare at me as I walk in, and they all start to laugh and point as I realise my error, until eventually the loud, mocking laughter becomes a deafening roar that will chase me as I flee from the building, only to trip on my new high heels and fall flat on my face in a water fountain, with my knickers showing?
So, you see, I have issues. The email I didn’t send to K8 was a few rambling, panicky sentences along these lines, broken in the middle by a short, unannounced “HELP ME”.
I now issue that plea to the world at large.