Sparkly Schmattaville

That’s the fab logo for my fave Dublin caffeine dispensary – Insomnia. Not only are they Fairtrade certified (and have been since well before it was the thing), they had soy milk for my large Caffè Americano, delish mince pie-lettes and a devastatingly attractive barista. He was a tawny, penny hue with a sleek sheet of ponytailed black hair. Also, unlike the employees of my way-overpriced-for-the-quality crib, dude had no trouble putting pen to paper when I couldn’t read his lips.

Yeah, you know where you’ll find me on future, possible, Dublin excursions – here and at the art packed and deaf friendly Dean Hotel. In art galleries and museums too, duh.

On one of my Art Tours, which always took me down Grafton Street – the main shopping drag, I decided to indulge my girlish nature and pop into a few of the boutiques. All of ‘em seemed to be featuring ultra sparkly bits and faux furred party wear, making me wistful for my club-hopping, party days.

I just don’t dress up anymore. Given that I work at home and the only places I frequent are the Y, Stop & Shop and Jen and Oni’s, it’s a wonder I ever get out of my jammies and robe. I do but it’s just to don workout gear or my bathing suit.

Maybe I really need a fun, Middle East style night out. Or, possibly, Tunnel for a night of dancing my pretty ta-tas off. Yeah, I know – I’m deaf but a dance club is about the beat, not the tune so I think I’d get by just dandy. And, as long as the band at the Middle East has rockin’ bass and drums, I should be AOK there too.

For Tunnel, I could suit up in one of the dresses made of metallic silver sparkles with these lovely, understated silver starred, glitter heeled boots. For the Middle East I could wear this Jane Eyre-ish grey lace dress with a pair of Pascal Rainbow Glitter Doc Martens on my dancing feets. I'd be SO stylin'!

No, I didn't indulge. There was no spare space in my rucksack and, rilly now, I just can't see shelling out the shekels for an outfit I'd probably only wear once. Also too, I still have my psychedelic-ish platform boots and, buried in the depths of my closet, a few lacy, fun schmattas still live. Since they were never devastatingly in style, they can't possibly out of it now, can they?

Yup, I think I'm overdue for a big night out.