RA’s Diary Entry — Clothes are something I wear to cover my body

[I am doing this cuz RAFrenzy thinks I need some more fun (read: aggravation) in my life, and because I ran across this German realfiction this morning, and because basically, though I started my blog before hers, I just copy everything she does or react to it somehow. We’ll see how it goes, as the adjective “sour-faced” could apply as equally to Servetus as to Armitage. As Mr. Armitage would say of himself, “I am SO not funny.” I am hereby signing my name to her disclaimer. This is a joke and your first clue should be that I’m using the “RA” acronym, which I never use elsewhere. This is not a real letter from Mr. Armitage. I have never received a letter of any kind from Mr. Armitage. Of course, I’ve never sent him one, either. I just diddle around on this blog. And since I am on record as doubting that both he and I exist, there should be no real problem, right? Just in case: LOL! 🙂 🙂 tee hee! Another joke: I have no idea how to write British idiom.]

Entry — two weeks after the BAFTAs

My publicist sent me a note today about my clothes at the BAFTAs to summarize the press and fan reaction. Luckily most of them liked it, though a few of them were disappointed that I didn’t go for the hypercorrect dinner jacket and trousers. Though they are always sweet when I meet them, I’m relieved to finally have them off my back about my clothes. 

The publicist is a little worried, though, about a woman blogger in the U.S. who wrote 12,312 words so far in response to the suit and is still threatening to write another piece about how seeing me in it brought her to tears. Apparently she looked at every candid photo of me several dozen times. Seriously, some of these women need to get lives. I’m not a mannequin for frustrated female academics having identity crises to dress, and I honestly don’t need one more person to tell me that my arse is big. Luckily, my image as a dancin’ fool is still pristine, as no photographers were allowed at the dance to see me gettin’ down.

I wonder what that woman would think if she knew that when the after-party was over I came home, tore the suit off, and crumpled it up in a corner before going to bed?

Man, I almost forgot about that. That suit was expensive! I better go hang it up now. I wonder if two weeks of lying in a corner will have hurt it irretrievably? After all, I’m still paying installments to the tailor. I know I’ve raised expectations, but I really don’t want to buy another suit when I could get a really brilliant leather jacket instead.

~ by Servetus on June 19, 2010.