Wardrobe crisis moment….

…so what is new about that, you might ask, kind reader, knowing well, if you read me relatively regularly, that wardrobe crisis moments dot my everyday existence the way said potholes dot the surface of out Mumbai roads, and with greater frequency than said potholes.
But this is different. This is a Serious Wardrobe Crisis Moment. On a Richter Scale of Wardrobe Crisis Moments, this would rank with the Tsunami inducing kinds, which not just has Mother Earth do the shimmy but also leave up miles of flotsam and jetsam in its wake.
The book, dear reader is out.
And ergo, I must be out and about. No longer can I hide in my garret, typing away furiously, dressed in ratty PJs and Tshirt of a vintage so ancient that it probably was woven in the mills when I was a zygote in utero.
Yesterday, all the contents of the wardrobe were taken out and thrown on the bed and a hopping, stamping, smoke bellowing out of my nostrils kind of tantrum ensued. I Have No Clothes, I yelled, loudly. The spouse raised one weary eye from the book he was reading and looked pointedly at a suitcase stored over the wardrobe, and at the lower shelves of his wardrobe which are infested with clothing owned by yours truly.
“No, no,” I sputtered in a self sustaining fury, “I have clothes. But I don’t have clothes, you know.”
He didn’t, apparently. Because he went right back to the book he was reading without really showing any beating of chest, howling and tearing hair out in solidarity. Or maybe he was cleverly steering clear of the conversation given that we have a good clear view of Inorbit on a bright day from our bedroom and said Inorbit has the Sale sign plastered all over its exterior.
“I have no clothes worthy for launches,” I said woebegone, rage spent, and clothes heaped on the bed.
Of my wardrobe, 99 per cent colour comprises black. Black tops in various colours. And these black tops are combined with denims. Various denims. Light denims, dark denims, black denims. But that is my wardrobe. It seemed nice and practical when Albert Einstein spoke about how he had many black suits in the same style because it saved him time when deciding what to wear, but I’m not sure if a series of goth like appearances would make for pleasant viewing on my book wall on fb.
Ergo. Plan has been made to raid the stores. To figure out what will look nice on me and not make people run shrieking towards exits, or advance towards me bearing little grey tails they want to pin to my behind. I must just, of course, remember not to buy any more of black.