Summer’s here at last! Jubilation! Time for the UK’s sun seekers to expose their doughy, milky midriffs and lacklustre limbs. Time for me to duck indoors and assess which pair of nude tights gives off the least sparkly ‘Come Dancing’ sheen.
Tights? In this weather? Why, of course. You can’t seriously expect me to expose my translucent legs.
I don’t mind the shape of my legs, in thick, black, 60 deniers. But without the security provided by the opaques, my legs are vulnerable. My skin is practically see-through. I’m sure, if you look closely enough, you can see the flow of blood racing through my thick, tube-map veins. You may even spot the odd commuter hanging about Leicester Square or Piccadilly, if I let you get close enough.
People wonder why I don’t apply fake tan, sunbathe or cover-up in a maxi – I can’t stand the smell of fake-bakes, nor do I have the dexterity required to apply a cream evenly over my bumpy limbs. Further, I do not have the patience for sitting in the sun for longer than fifteen minutes; my holiday from hell is an all-inclusive ‘let’s spend all week sat by the pool.’ Ug, what a waste of seven days. And as for wearing a full-length Maxi dress – no way. I look like I’m four years old playing dress-ups in my Mum’s clothes.
Fashion and me go together like crisps and chocolate. Something which was embarrassingly apparent last week, when a photographer and stylist searched by wardrobe for an outfit suitable for the pages of the Daily Mail.
“Hmmm, don’t you have any heels?” The bemused super-cool stylist asked, as she glared down at my pitiful and dusty collection of shoes. Emma Watson claims to have only eight pairs. That’s more than me, Hermione!
I did have heels, of course. But in the wrong colour for the dress they had selected for me. Things in my wardrobe do not match. Should they? I’m the sort of girl who finds a pretty and comfy pair of shoes and sticks with them until the sole falls off. And as for bags, I own four and they’re all brown. Well that goes with everything, right?
I loathe bags. I hate carrying anything. Period. When I go out, I stuff my keys in my back pocket, cash in the front one and carry my phone. Why do I need a bag? My favourite bag is a pink and grey rucksack. I adore ruck-sacks. Practical, comfy things. They rest on your back, embrace your shoulders and free your hands for anything that comes your way. I simply do not understand the desire to balance a bag on your wrist or the inside of your elbow.
I think I would like to be fashionable, but I don’t feel comfortable in anything that draws attention from anyone. I quite fancy one of those cute Trilby hats, but I know, as soon as I wear one, my friends will chuckle and I’ll want to throw it under a passing car.
Some women just have it and will make a hospital gown look good and some of us just want to be comfortable. Nice fluffy, hooded top and a pair of pyjamas if you please.
My husband says he loves my dislike of fashion; he’s pleased I’m not a high-maintenance chick who adores the January sales and prefers the mall to a nice walk in the country. With a flask of tea preferably.
Anyway, back to the legs. It’s hot in the UK at the moment. Really hot. Too hot for me, but I can’t hack the back of my knees dripping with sweat in jeans. Therefore, I will need to expose my legs soon enough. But please, do not look. Pretend the luminous glow before you is not really there. Meanwhile, I will pray for autumn, my favourite time of year. Woolly tights and jumpers. Heaven.