Let me explain.
Monday found me showering, applying makeup and dressing in clothing likely entirely inappropriate for moving and more suitable for a stroll around a shopping centre. Even the removalists told me I should have put on a pair of jeans instead of my (far more flattering) dress.
Boo to them. Clearly they know nothing about fashion.
Over the past few days even though there's been nothing on the agenda other than unpacking and sorting out my new house, I've made an effort to put on a dress and tights and do my hair (I forewent the makeup as that would just be silly).
And then this morning I donned my jeans(!) and boots for my medical appointment. Clearly the transformation was already in progress as I have friends I've known for 20 years who haven't seen me in a pair of jeans. Because I was wearing boots I wore pink striped fluffy socks underneath as I figured noone would see them.
When I got home I changed back to trackies for comfort whilst I went about the endless business of unpacking. Later this afternoon I realised we needed washing detergent and dish washing powder so we raced out to the nearest Woolworths to pick some up.
You see where I'm going with this.
Yes, I didn't change out of my trackies and just threw on a pair of black ballet flats...OVER my socks. It wasn't until I reached the shops that I realised the fashion tragedy I was perpetuating.
Oh dear.
Now by no means was I the worst dressed person at the supermarket, which is disturbing enough in itself. But for me to be actively contributing to the decline of personal dignity is simply appalling.
I don't like the direction this is heading.
I need a fashion intervention. STAT.
xx
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