Last weekend I visited a medieval market in Knobblyville together with a friend of mine. She isn’t much into dressing up, but she loves watching people stare at me in one of my creations. You see, I love dressing up. So, last weekend I wore my beautiful Robe à la Francaise, which I made according to the human Rokoko fashion.
Therefore people were staring at me and taking pictures of me all the time. I love the attention. As we strode over the market, looking at all the beautiful goods on sale and enjoying the ambience, I noticed that they were advertising a costume contest for later that day. Anyone interested could take part. Obviously, I decided this would be great fun and I could possibly even make some money out of my hobby.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know where to register for the contest so we just asked one of the imps at a beverages stall and she said we only had to show up in time for the start of the contest.
I looked at the plan that lay out at the stall. 17:45. That meant we had quite some more time to spend shopping and people watching. As the time neared 17:30 we went to the stage, already discussing how we would spend the price money – not that I was overly confident, but it is a great dress. There was a band playing on the stage and lots of people standing around but none of them looked like competition for me.
The band played their last tune and went off stage but no one announced the costume contest and then we noticed a huge sign that said this was stage 1. There was more than one stage! Were we at the wrong one? We hastened – a lady in a Robe à la Francaise never runs – to the nearest beverage stall and checked the listings once more. There it was, costume competition stage 2. Damn.
Off we went right across the whole market trying to reach stage two before it was too late. But when we got there the stage area was curiously empty. Again there were no competitors, but I could make out the herald I had seen doing the announcing before. We went to him and asked him whether they would start with the costume competition now.
He raised his eyebrows. “We just finished the competition.”
“WHAT?” it broke out of me. “But it says on the schedule that the costume competition starts at 17:45!”
“That’s impossible,” the herald answered while getting out his own copy of the schedule. “See here-“ he pointed at the relevant entry, “Costume competition starts at 5 o’clock and lasts approximately until quarter to six.”
And there it was on black and white. I had read the schedule wrong. How embarrassing! Luckily the herald was a nice guy and didn’t laugh at us all too much.
Therefore people were staring at me and taking pictures of me all the time. I love the attention. As we strode over the market, looking at all the beautiful goods on sale and enjoying the ambience, I noticed that they were advertising a costume contest for later that day. Anyone interested could take part. Obviously, I decided this would be great fun and I could possibly even make some money out of my hobby.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know where to register for the contest so we just asked one of the imps at a beverages stall and she said we only had to show up in time for the start of the contest.
I looked at the plan that lay out at the stall. 17:45. That meant we had quite some more time to spend shopping and people watching. As the time neared 17:30 we went to the stage, already discussing how we would spend the price money – not that I was overly confident, but it is a great dress. There was a band playing on the stage and lots of people standing around but none of them looked like competition for me.
The band played their last tune and went off stage but no one announced the costume contest and then we noticed a huge sign that said this was stage 1. There was more than one stage! Were we at the wrong one? We hastened – a lady in a Robe à la Francaise never runs – to the nearest beverage stall and checked the listings once more. There it was, costume competition stage 2. Damn.
Off we went right across the whole market trying to reach stage two before it was too late. But when we got there the stage area was curiously empty. Again there were no competitors, but I could make out the herald I had seen doing the announcing before. We went to him and asked him whether they would start with the costume competition now.
He raised his eyebrows. “We just finished the competition.”
“WHAT?” it broke out of me. “But it says on the schedule that the costume competition starts at 17:45!”
“That’s impossible,” the herald answered while getting out his own copy of the schedule. “See here-“ he pointed at the relevant entry, “Costume competition starts at 5 o’clock and lasts approximately until quarter to six.”
And there it was on black and white. I had read the schedule wrong. How embarrassing! Luckily the herald was a nice guy and didn’t laugh at us all too much.
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