Last weekend saw me hitting my mid-early-twenties.

Since it was only my 23rd, and not a particularly important year, I’d arranged to share the celebration with one of my best friends, Cat, born just a day after me.

We adore each other, so there was never going to be a catty competition between us for everyone’s attention. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t each make an effort to look our very best.

Birthdays come only once a year, after all.

However, as per usual, I timed my birthday outfit on an imprudently tight schedule.

Believe it or not, I am not one of those women who takes a whole week to plan an outfit. And I hate shopping for a purpose. I’m an impulse buyer.

I like to have things on hold in my wardrobe, ready on command for an occasion.

However, this is one event I was not prepared for.

With a mixture of guests from both our friendship groups, work and various other circles, I struggled to come up with an outfit that absolutely no one had seen me in. And, as you may have recently read, this is one fashion faux pas I desperately avoid committing.

Late on Saturday I placed an order for a backless, black and gold lacy number from ASOS.

It had to be sophisticated, sexy and club-appropriate. I expected it to be posted on Monday and arrive in good time for the big night on Friday.

So imagine my horror then when I discovered that the postman had visited on Thursday, found no one at home and sent it straight to the post office.

Clearly an emergency situation, I informed my manager that, despite having already requested to leave work early on Friday, I would be coming in late too so that I could pick it up in the morning. I was determined to wear that dress before sub-zero winter temperatures descended upon us.

Nevertheless, I spent the best part of Thursday night putting together a contingency plan. The back-up option was a monochrome jumpsuit with a white crepe cowl neck. Okay, cowl neck is definitely an understatement. The cowl dipped all the way to the belly button.

My backless dress was daring enough, but this was practically frontless. Which meant it took over an hour of arduous preening and draping, finally pinning the top to my bra (yes, really) before I deemed it appropriate for public display. After all that, on Friday morning I was relieved to find the dress I’d ordered safely waiting for me at the local PO (I’d been warned it may not reach there for at least 24 hours).

By lunch time I had tried it on and determined that it was perfect for the party (as there’s always a risk with online orders).

The only trouble was, having recently returned from sojourn in the sun, I still had tan lines on my back.

I found myself performing the twister in the ladies’ room, dabbing the offending patches with foundation, much to the bemusement of the woman standing next to me washing her hands.

But was it worth it? You betcha. I have it on good authority that backless number achieved the desired effect.