Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Oh, how my standards have fallen.

I am currently wearing a top which has a mysterious stain in the bottom left hand corner. I have no idea what it is or how it got there. All I do know is that I spotted the stain well before I left the house and wore it anyway. I figure that it's the least of my worries.

Don't get me wrong. I've never been what you would call immaculate. My phobia of ironing attests to that. (If you hang out washing on hangers you will never need to iron again. Ever). (But you can't just hang it any old which way. You have to pay attention to the line of the shoulder seams). However, wandering about in such attire means that I have sunk to a new low.

Have you ever picked up a glossy magazine and read an interview with someone impossibly chic? Maybe a buyer for a boutique or a designer for a new label. If you could describe your look in three words, what would it be? Sexy. Sophisticated. Feminine. Of course. Before M was born I had condensed my look into three words too. Not. A. Castaway. Heck, I'm a realist. Now with this latest turn of events I can't even aspire to that. Maybe I should stop washing my hair and be done with it.

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