How would you advise a middle aged woman to dress for a day out, to a family friendly, outdoor, public event ? I'll make a suggestion and you tell me if I am right? Comfortable jeans, sludge coloured to disguise the stains that will be acquired during the 6 hour trip. Cotton socks and comfortable trainers. [translation = sneakers?] Short sleeved T-shirt to avoid the embarrassment of string straps leaving the shoulders and “exposing” more “flesh” than might be wise, even though the climate is warm. An open in the front, light cardigan for those air conditioned tents. Have I missed anything? Maybe a neon baseball cap to make myself more easily identifiable in a crowd. The underlying theme here, is comfort rather than fashion. What do you think? Will I do?
I thought I would do, but I didn't, 'do' that is to say. I had forgotten a few things. The first thing that I had forgotten, was that my boys' fine motor skills are now so advanced that they can undo “zips.” [translation = graduated with flying colours] My light cardigan has a zipper and two more zipper pockets, in the front. As we queued [translation = lined?] my boys discovered the zips and demonstrated their mastery of this new skill for twenty minutes. [translation = with matching sound effects, towit, 'zip, zip, zip.] There again, I accidentally transformed myself into a form of entertainment, which is no bad thing when waiting is on the cards. Fortunately, there were three of them, zips that is to say, so there were more than enough zips to go around. [translation = simultaneous sharing skills were avoided]
Whilst I would be the first to admit that my mother is right [translation = my arms are two inches too long, to be in proportion to the rest of me] this current habit is only making my bodily defect worse. I don't know quite how to describe this trend of hanging, [jelly legs] off each of my arms, to drag me down, now that they are 65 and 48 lbs respectively, but there again, that doesn't relate to clothing, unless I'm foolish enough to wear long sleeves. But I digress.
The other unexpected quality of this garment, was that it was cuddly and “soft.” Two pairs of hands greatly appreciated this facet, such that I spent the remainder of the time being stroked, pummeled and kneaded, a bit like cats when they're getting themselves comfortable. [translation = “bread making”] But at least it kept them in place. What if I had made the mistake of wearing my other one, the one that feels like sand paper! I would have made myself a pariah and they'd have run away. Anyway, it was probably the nearest thing I'll get to a massage in the next decade, and it was free.
I do worry slightly as hands flurry over my chests in a public forum, not an attribute to be encouraged, but I notice that spouse gets the same treatment in confirmation of their anti sex “discrimination” policy.
I also forgot that jeans have pockets. I have yet to evaluate accurately which is more of an impediment to ambulation: a small pair of hairs in your back pockets or a small pair of hands in your front pockets? There again, I was indeed fortunate to only have one pair of additional hands at any one time. It's easy to see how front pockets help when you're trying to walk in time with your mother, your feet on hers with the pockets for balance and a firm purchase point. The white trainers were a mistake of course, but not a fatal one.
I'm seriously toying with the idea of throwing away all my T-shirt and replacing them with the modern skin tight version. It's not so much to update my image, more a means of prevention. If there's only enough room for my skin beneath the fabric, this might prove a deterrent to people sticking their heads in there, for fear of suffocation. I am gradually adjusting to the raspberry noises that they make on my skin on contact, therein proof positive of lip closure. This development has meant that the general public give me a wide berth, in the mistaken belief that I am flatulent person.
So as you can see, my wardrobe and fashion sense may be dire, but other people are making great strides in all kinds of “unlikely” directions.