Right about now you’re probably wondering how much longer I can keep this up. How many more spurned items of clothing can possibly be lurking in the darkness of my wardrobes? The answer is: I’m ashamed to admit the answer…far too many.
Ever over-prepared, on friday I dug into my closets and pulled together the next week’s worth of outfits. And I barely even made a dent. This is good for the purposes of this blog…but bad for the soul.
With every day that passes, I become more and more amazed and bemused by my sheer, unadulterated materialism. How in the world have I managed to amass such an enormous collection? And how in the world can I be so remiss about actually wearing it all? Instead of splurging on all this unnecessary stuff, I could’ve been investing; I could’ve been trotting the globe (well, I might have got as far as Blackpool); I could’ve been giving to charity.
I keep thinking of the Beckhams. Not in some twisted stalker way, I promise. Do you remember their donation of 20 boxes of clothes to the British Red Cross? That’s what I keep thinking of: Victoria Beckham sitting atop a box, cross-legged and worthy. Trounced by the morality of the Beckhams. Maybe it’s time to have a clear out…and cleanse the soul just a little bit.
Here’s today’s outfit then. It’s a pleated, crepe French Connection dress I wore a lot…until my students thought it was a maternity dress. It happens, ladies, doesn’t it? To us all, sadly. And it’s the one thing that’ll kill any outfit right off.
So, since then, it’s been on the naughty list. But another t-shirt (from Whistles), that forever useful grosgrain belt and my much-loved, much-beaten Converse trainers, and all is forgiven.
My husband doesn’t get this one. I love it. That’s pretty much all there is to say.