Today, I thought I’d go to Norwich. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any work to do – I’ll have to do that as soon as I’ve written this and was busy well after midnight last night (technically this morning, of course) too – but the sudden urge to look at clothes is rare and best acted upon. So I emailed Ronan to see if he was free for lunch, which he usually is, and we agreed to meet. I reckon I do him good, because otherwise he’d eat at his desk as so many do – including me, only too often, I can’t deny it.
Moorish is a jolly good name for a falafel restaurant, don’t you think? A nice play on words. And a nice meal too, with plenty of salad and fresh lemonade with the falafel. And then I toddled on to Jarrolds to buy a few books (still can’t read like I used to, I can’t cope with fiction very well now, but persevering, five on the go and the prospect of finishing three of them in a couple of days), looked at clothes but – h’m, I don’t know, didn’t quite do it for me – and headed back to House of Fraser and found things to try on. Going by eye rather than size, I picked up sizes 8 and 10 – one size 10 dress didn’t fit, though it went well enough over my hips, I think it’s because I’m so short that there was surplus material under the bust. But the 10 and 8 trousers and 8 dress were fine. I’ve not been that size before, ever – that is, not since my clothes were bought by age rather than size. Of course, an 8 now would be a 12 in 1970, but all the same…
If I’d found more, I’d have bought it – two interviewing days and a wedding in the next three weeks, but the wedding will be ok if the weather doesn’t change markedly (I went to the groom’s sister’s wedding last year, so can’t wear the same thing) and the navy dress I bought today will be for the first interview day, with shocking pink the next day to startle the candidates out of pigeonholing me. They’re all men, so haven’t the same leeway except, possibly, with their socks (I realise they may have googled me and be reading this, which is fine. Showing initiative. I don’t judge by appearances, anyway, though ill manners are damning) or their ties.
Ben is in my bad books, having suddenly lunged for a chicken, skinning my hand with his lead as he pulled, so I had to let go. Fortunately, she got away and I shut him in the porch, very angry. I locked the door to be sure he wouldn’t open it. Later, R got home and I saw him get out his phone, sitting at the table outside. The home phone rang. “Why are you ringing me?” “I’m locked out.” “Ah, sorry about that” – and I explained. “Why didn’t you knock?” He had no answer. He’s odd like that.
Shocking pink? Wow! Bet the dress is beautiful.
The Kipper was naughty as well. While I was putting one of her toys in her basket three days ao, she got hyper and ran towards me and collided with my cheekbone. I now have a black eye, well now it is turning purple.
It is a skirt, pink but patterned in black and white with a pink top, that I’ve had for a couple of years. The dress is navy with tiny white dots and a peplum. I’ve got a white jacket that looks good with it, it’s sleeveless which is always tricky at my age (it was heavily reduced and hey an 8! – your size 4).
And ow, poor you! Naughty Kippy, what we go through with our animals!
How nice for the interviewers and candidates!
Size 8! Be careful, you might disappear altogether and we can’t do without you.
Ooh, you are lovely, Mig. No chance of my disappearance, I love food far too much and I look after my health too, don’t want to be too thin.
Indeed, men don’t have the same leeway when it comes to wearing clothes that make a certain impression or encourage a certain response. I mean, what scope is there with socks and ties? I could try wearing a shocking pink dress but I don’t think the response would be the one intended….
Ah, for the early ’70s. I remember a friend, born in 1950, who wore a burgundy velvet suit and he looked very dashing. But of course, having leeway means it’s easy to get it wrong, too.
I generally don’t like going to stores to buy clothes so I mostly order them from an online catalog.
As Mrs B will testify, I am not a fan of shopping for clothes. I have to say that if I had been locked out like the Venerablr R was, I would have phoned rather than knocking. Must be a bloke thing.
It’s a tempting thought, LX, but clothes look different in real life than in pictures, I’d be constantly disappointed and have to send things back.
The oddness is in never answering a question, Sir B. What I was surprised about was that he didn’t look at the house at all, to try to see what room I was in – I was in plain view of him.
I shop, therefore I am.