Devil in disguise...

There are many dilemmas in life concerning what to wear...

But none as difficult as for a night with Elvis.

It was a great friend's 65th party yesterday, and she had booked Ben Portsmouth ('Ultimate Elvis Tribute Act 2012') for the celebrations, and yesterday afternoon I stared into the abyss which is my wardrobe, and wondered what on earth to wear.

Now as we all know, Elvis had many looks, reinventing himself every few years ( a bit like Madonna but without the pointy brassiere) and as usual, I was keen to throw myself wholeheartedly into the night.  Mentally, I went through all the best known faces of Mr P, starting with Blue Hawaii (one of my personal favourites).  OK.  Hawaiian shirt, string of plastic flowers and a pair of tighty whitey shorts.

Surprisingly, I have all these in my wardrobe (although the shorts used to belong to daughter number two so could be tighter than hoped).  This idea was discarded.  It's bloody cold out there at night, and as my previously tanned legs have turned to the colour of curdled milk, I'm not sure I want to inflict them on Elvis.

But what about Jailhouse Rock?  Great idea.  Black and white striped top, tight black trousers and a sneer.

Clothing was no problem, but the sneer?  To be honest, my face settles in maniacal grin most times so keeping a sneer in position all night was not going to be easy.

Black leather Elvis...now you're talking.  Again, I had all the gear, but there'd be dancing, and who wants sweating thighs under all that leather.  I had visions of the husband cutting me out of the trousers half way through the evening while Elvis thumped out Burning Love.  Now, that would never do.  I'd never show my face in polite company again.

My final choice was the white jumpsuit and rhinestones debacle.  I am very pleased (and relieved) to say that I had absolutely nothing which would fall into this category (unless you count a particularly gaudy ring someone bought me several years ago).

The problem was that Miss R had laid down the dress gauntlet, so I eventually settled on a black and white stripy number (see what I did there?)  and the only issue remaining was my hair.

Black greasy quiff or fuzzy sideburns?

Well I know which would be easier, and I probably wouldn't need as much Brylcreem...