As I Walk Back To My Chair

My white trainers carefully tread the shiny marble floor, the smell of peroxide and scented hair products assaulting my nostrils as funky house blares and spotlights blaze. My guide is a few feet ahead of me, confidently forging a path through this battlefield of aggressive beautification, but I give in to temptation, turn my head sideways to sneak a glance of myself in the mirror, and realise that at this precise moment, with my shampooed hair slicked back over my warm head and me wearing a black gown the size of an 8 man tent, I look like the Emperor of the Dorks.