Dressing for a wedding

Mavis and I went to the wedding of a colleague, held in a Salvation Army Hall. I had been too busy to think about what we would wear – until the day of the wedding. We had to be at the Sally Annie Hall at midday and before hand Mavis had a nine o’clock doctor’s appointment.

On the way to the surgery we discussed what we would wear to the ceremony. Later we would need a different outfit for the evening do.

‘I need something new.’ Mavis tried.

‘You’ve got two lovely dresses you’ve only worn once, wear one of those.’

The dresses are long. Will this be suitable for the church? I wondered. Mavis shared the thought so I suggested perhaps we could look in the little boutique in Tinkle after the doctor’s visit was completed, to find something ‘Smart Casual’.

I found a casual tee-shirt that would hide the muffin top that lurks above the waistline of the only pair of jeans that still fits me. Mavis found a smart little sweater dress that would be perfect. There, smart, and casual!

On the way home Mavis asked, ‘Aren’t you going to wear a dress?’

I don’t have one that fits but I do have a couple of Spanish style skirts and I wondered if one of those might do. We got home and I went straight to the wardrobe. I put on a black skirt with rows of frills (it’s better than it sounds), with some high heeled grey boots. The bottom bit didn’t look to bad, but the muffin top still reached out to attract the eye of anyone who cared to look. I put on a matching top and went to look in the full length mirror.

‘that looks OK.’ Mavis told me.

‘It looks terrible,’ retorted I.

The new top caught my eye. Loose, kind of hand-made and ethnic looking. I could add beads and lots of jangly jewellery. I put it on and relief flooded over me. It looked quite nice.

Mavis entered. ‘That looks terrible.’ she announced, ‘Try it with a belt.

I did,

‘No, it still looks weird.’

‘I thought it was quite nice.’

‘Well it’s not.’ Having pronounced judgement Mavis departed leaving me torn between accepting the advice of a 14-year-old and being my own woman. In the end I decided that having my daughter muttering at me for the whole service about the paucity of my taste was not worth the hassle. Time was running out and the bedroom was beginning to look like a market stall. I found another loose top and pulled it in with a belt. It would have to do. I added jewellery and make-up and stalked out of my room and onto the landing, daring Mavis to make some negative judgement.

‘Actually you don’t look too bad in that.’ She sounded surprised.

I feel I must take this as a compliment, it’s probably the best I’ll ever get.

 

Floordrobes

In my house I am burdened by two floordrobes. (I apologise if I have plagiarized this word. It popped into my head and I thought That’s a great word, but I’m worried it may be someone else’s. If it is then comment here and I’ll credit you).

I, being the washer, drier and ironer of clothes and the hooverer of floors hang my clothes up so as to have access to the floor and to keep the clothes in as crease-free a state as possible. Alternatively I, yes really, I do this, put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket.

Call me weak willed but I do, sometimes, pick clothes from Mavis’s floor and put them in the laundry basket.

Being hormonally challenged I tend to forget what I have and haven’t put through the system so if on a Monday I find I haven’t put in the school uniform well, it’s just too bad. If Whizz says, ‘I’m a bit short of underpants,’ I can wonderpant where they might be. Sadly though, I feel responsible. If they are lost, I may have lost them; I can’t remember. Household chores are disposed of before doing the important things in life. I don’t waste much time thinking about them.

Today (Sunday) is drama group day. Mavis must wear her Curtain Call sweat shirt and leggings.

Half an hour before she is due to leave the house she staggers, wild haired and squinty eyed, into the kitchen and mutters, ‘where’s my sweat shirt?’

Well, it’s not in the clean washing and, after a frantic search, it’s not in the dirty washing. ‘I don’t have it Mavis, have you checked in the drawer?’

‘Yeah, it’s not there.’

The tumble drier is running. I yank it open and rummage among the hot laundry. There’s no bright red polo shirt within. ‘Well it must be in a heap somewhere. It’s certainly not in the laundry.’

‘It’s not.’ Mavis is stubborn so I stump upstairs and rummage again in the dirty washing basket. Not there. ‘Have you checked the other drawers?’

‘Why would it be in another drawer?’

‘Well it’s a top. Look in your top drawer (as opposed to the uniform drawer).’

‘Nope…

…Oh, here it is. On my sofa.’

I explode – a bit.

‘Mavis looks accusing. ‘Well don’t blame me; it was camouflaged against my sofa.’

What can you do?

Child Quote 12

A funny child quote about penguins

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This came from a friend and it made me laugh.

She visited the zoo with her little son and his granddad.

When they reached the penguins the tiny boy poked his finger through the fence and said ‘Duck’

‘No,’ explained Granddad, ‘It’s a penguin.’

‘Duck insisted the little boy.’

‘No. Penguin.’

The tiny child looked accusingly at his grandfather and patiently explained ‘Finger, duck!’

Convoluted Journey

I have written before about my defective, hormonally starved memory. My lack of brain cells (well the links between them really) has provided me with plenty of material for these pages. The disability does, however, interfere with the direction of my journey and, if I’m honest, puts occasional pressure on what would otherwise be a fine marriage.

Ageist owlSo, anyway, a funny thing happened to me on the way to the swimming bath…

This was the week of Mavis’s 14th birthday (Gosh!) A simple visit to the swimming pool, and a sleep-over involving only two friends and a take-away, was brilliantly trouble free, especially as one of the friends was prone – literally – to go to sleep at about 10.30pm.

The plans were complicated by the discovery that our home administrator – yours truly – had failed to tax the car. It was 10 days overdue. On-line taxing seemed to be the most immediate solution but when Whizz went through the screens on the DVLA website my further failure was revealed. We had no MOT!

The result was that I spent the majority of my spare time sorting out an MOT and trying to do a supermarket shop on foot and get to the swimming bath by bus. Fortunately the car passed its MOT – eventually, and the tax disc arrived today, but the arrangements for Mavis’s birthday and the cooking of her cake provided more stress than might have been wished for.

You may wonder why there is a picture of an owl at the top. It supplied, when the label was studied, a light moment amid the strain .

Not suitable for under 14s!
Not suitable for under 14s!

Oh no, and Mavis wasn’t 14 for two more days!

The car passed its MOT while we were at the pool and Whizz agreed to come and collect us. We wandered off to Pets at Home to pass the time and I was very amused to find this

Why fruit flavoured meal worms?
Why?

 

I managed a bit of writing while I waited for the swimmers but not a lot. My net book keeps wanting to update programs and this time I had to wait for 13 updates. I have now stopped closing the lid or switching it off to enable updates to happen automatically.

After the updates I had to get to grips with yet another text editor. It’s called WriteMonkey and I do like it better than MdCharm but it’s frustrating not to be able to do things instinctively.

Whizz tells me that the main advantage of using a text editor is that running it uses much less memory than MS Word. Write Monkey is able to show me how many words I have written (76,152 now) and summarises the chapters for quick hopping about, something I need to do at the moment as I have got in a bit of a muddle (again) with the plot due to the discovery of complicated police procedures.

Ooh, by the way. I will say zis only once: Zee tomato is in ze fridge.

 

Home grown tomato, red at last!
Red at last!