At this moment my living room is full of people dressed in what they think is 1940s garb. They are attending a themed postgrad dance (which inspired one of my flatmates to declare, "A dance?! Whatever, grandma!" However, he did not give me an alternative name by which to call it). The preparations earlier this evening had me acting as self-appointed style consultant for four of the attendees.
Shane: Jenna, what do you think of this (gesturing to his get-up)? Josh Hartnett circa Pearl Harbor is my muse for the evening.
Me: Uh, well, you're wearing a black shirt with a skinny white tie. You look more like Billy Joel circa The Piano Man.
Shane: Is that good?
Me: No.
Shane: (exasperated) Liam! You're not even making an effort! Where's the fun if we don't all at least try to look the part?
Liam: What!? I have a tie on!
Shane: Jesus, you look as if you've just come from the office. Please, make an effort!
Liam: Jenna, what shall I do?
Me: Let's part your hair on the side and comb it down.
(Hair is restyled)
Liam: No, seriously, lads, I'm not going out with my hair like this, I look like I work in a bank!
Me: Yes, but a 1940s bank.
On top of these exchanges, boys kept showing up wearing both suspenders and a belt, but they failed to see the humor in that.
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