Fighting the need to be a wasp

I used to have to change my clothes in telephone boxes as my dress sense has always been slightly off centre and my Dad did not understand me. We lived in Scotland at the time and the dance hall culture was still very much alive. Dancing to a live version of Chicory Tips Son of My Father is a lasting memory - getting tapped on the shoulder by this drop dead gorgeous hunk whom I had lusted after for weeks only to discover that he had no bottom teeth (seems to be a bit of a theme with me). However the main memory is the 6" black and red wrap around skirt, matching halter neck top and three inch heels that I was wearing at the time so............

Anything remotely different always attracts me. I have been venturing into this Stage School Shop for some time now on the look out for props. Ideally I need a 6ft black girl who will get her kit off for me, lie on a bed with huge black angels wings on her back (no comment boys as this is purely for portfolio reasons). So imagine my excitement when in the window of said shop I spied a full wasp outfit - don't ask me why, maybe wasps are in fashion - I have no idea. Yellow tights, antenna of sorts, black pvc bottom with a strippy top - if only I was 17 again!! Hey ho.

For those who are interested I no longer have to suffer someones groin in my face whilst trying to read my Bernard Cornwell on the train, the subsidence is no longer subsiding and we are back to normal.

Mr Fox - thank you for your comments and I did leave another post for you on my blog.

Of course tonight is judgement day - mm - am feeling less than confident as I have gone out on a limb here and my club is very much into robins standing on one leg on a spade in an allotment type of thing - not that I have anything against spades.