Heart breaking moment this morning. Beautiful pair of Next denims. With coarse thread detailing on back pockets. And contrast seams. The sort that you need a stetson and a pair of boots with spurs to complete the look. Lying in the cupboard for a couple of years since no occasion ever felt perfect enough for them to be worn to. This morning by strange fluke or mischance they happened to land straight within eyeshot and I was in a brave benevolent mood. So I took them out.
The husband snorted. Meanly. I should have taken that as a warning. The sort that animals give before there’s going to be an earthquake. You know bark wildly and run scared, tail between their legs. But, me being me, have never learnt to read earthly signs of doom and proceeded to do my changing with the man in the room. As any woman knows. This in itself is an act of bravery. In the first flush of lust, this could take an additional fifteen minutes into getting ready time. When you’re eighteen years past the first flush of lust, you just avert your eyes and get hopping and wriggling into your clothes hoping the other isnt noticing your flesh jiggling.
The damn pant stopped at my knees. I say stopped. I gasped in surprise. It just stopped like a mule and refused to go up further. I looked at my thighs in surprise. Sure they looked ‘healthier’ to me than they’ve looked in a while, but surely I was not that healthy that a pair of denims bought a couple of years ago couldnt get past them knees?
I tried again. I did a little hop and wriggle and the kind that Sridevi patented in Nagina. By which time the husband was thrashing around on the floor in what could only be termed a laughing fit of sorts. Which I sternly and pointedly ignored. And then I gave up all pretence and struggle and sleekly slipped into old favourite D&Gs, them being eminently slip into able considering their lycra has truly and completely given way.
And picked up my ego from the floor whence I was writhing like a snake woman a couple of minutes ago and proceeded to bin it. If I may say so, I looked smashing in them D&Gs. Rubens would have made an oil painting of me.