Our night out at the thear-tah, darlings

I’m feeling bold today. I’m about to make a bold statement (although I’ve come close to saying this before):

Melbourne is truly Australia’s home for fine dining and culture.

There – now, the other states will gang up on me; but that’s okay, because I’m sure that they have many fine qualities of their own.

Naturally, how one finds themselves located within this scene is bound to have its moments of doubt and misgivings – unless you’re one of the A-list elite, used to finding themselves in the social pages. The rest of us muck about, without our stylists, when we’re dressing for a night out on the town.

You see, Saturday night was our booked night to go see Phantom of the Opera. And I got dressed up. Observe:

Surely worth a vote for hotness, hmm?

(Please excuse my daughter’s rather aggressive glare. She knew we were about to go out. Without her. Oh, my.)

(Actually, she did exceptionally well with our wonderful friend playing babysitter.)

Kick-ass dress aside (there goes the grocery shopping budget for the month!) I just didn’t feel ‘quite pretty enough’ sometimes, and I was not alone. In the restaurant before dinner, I saw many women sneaking nervous glances at the mirrored walls, touching their hair, adjusting their bracelet charms, wiping clear the corners of their mouths of lipstick or steak-juice. I think we were all feeling a bit hokey; out of place. Obviously, for most of us, this was our one night out for the year, our chance to really feel privileged we’re sitting with adult company, not have to move our glasses away from prying hands, or be worried there were lit candles on tables. Or that our desserts were compromised of alcohol-soaked flummeries that put hairs on my husband’s already considerably hairy chest.

My misgivings over my appearance were mainly due to the fact that five minutes before we walked out the door, I decided I wanted to have my hair up. My hair didn’t agree. Out of mousse, I grabbed what was closest – a tub of my husband’s hair wax (which he never uses), and trowelled it over my naughty mane. Alas, I was to discover that wax was more of a heavy-duty substance than I had anticipated, and I felt I was walking around all night with a tub of lard combed through my hair.

You think that makes me sound old and out-of-touch? How’s this? After dinner, we had to take a detour via a 7/11 to buy some antacids for my heartburn, before the show started.

You’d be amazed I didn’t need to take an ear-horn to hear the performance, wouldn’t you?

All that aside, it was fun! Salacious! A sensorial feast!