Or the latest bulletin from the Bulging Wardrobe. Strictly speaking I have momentarily moved on to my bulging chest of drawers, where I am sorting through several decades’ worth of T-shirts.
So far, and there may be others lurking, I have discovered that I own at least five red T-shirts. Is this a reasonable number? They are more or less the same colour red and to be honest there isn’t a huge difference in style between them. Added to which, one or two I scarcely recognised as it is so long since I last wore them that I had forgotten they were there.
Getting rid of the short sleeved one, will be easy. I don’t do short sleeves and the neckline is not flattering. The others will be harder.
The Laura Ashley with the bow on the neckline is a case in point. Unlike my flowered skirt, there’s not much of a story to this one, but something equally potent has kept me from passing it on.
The fantasy element: that hope, or is it a dream, that wearing a a certain garment will transform the wearer into someone they would like to be. It’s what sells clothes and magazines ruthlessly compare high street versions to those worn by celebrities to get us to buy the latest trend.
In the case of the red T-shirt with a bow, I nurtured the illusion that with my cut off trousers I would have that vintage look, like Audrey Hepburn in “Roman Holiday.” It won’t, of course, not only because I’m not as slim, or as young, or as beautiful, but also because in our miserably cold climate, I hardly ever wear cut off trousers and if I did, I’d need a pair of socks and a big jumper to stop my blood from freezing. Hardly the outfit to go with a glamorous convertible. I don’t have one of those either, my preference being for a car with heated seats.
One final point. If my T-shirts look in need of an iron, it’s because there is no room in the drawer.