Yes, I have got the numbering right. There were a few covered in the previous post at the festival…
This is an unusual New Thing, in the fact that not only was it not planned in advance, it wasn’t recognised as a New Thing until afterwards. It is also leading on to more New Thing, although I am counting it as all wrapped into one.
When it was my birthday, one of my presents was a voucher for Marks and Spencer. Husband was off with son so I took a Day Off and decided to spend the voucher. I pottered round the local store, found a couple of things to try on, happily pootled into the changing rooms…and emerged to hurl them disgustedly at the shop assistant snarling about how I now remembered why I hated shopping for clothes. No, really, I do. They don’t fit, or they don’t suit, and I never know what goes with what. I end up in basic black jeans with a top. All the time. It makes it easy to get dressed in the morning, mind – Clean jeans? Check. Clean top? Check. Done.
The lass laughed but then said earnestly that she would find me something. She was only young (21 the next day!) and so very eager, with all the other assistants saying, “Oh yes, she *IS* good.” that I didn’t have it in my heart to refuse.
So off we trotted round the store, with her picking up all sorts of things from all sorts of collections. “What about this?” as she holds up a bright purple patterned dress. “Um.” “Oh, you’d be surprised,” she said. “What about this?” as various other tops, trousers, jumpers, cardigans, vests, jeans etc got pulled out of piles. “You’d be surprised,” she assured me.
So I gave in. If she wanted me to try it on, then I’d try it on. Even the black blouse with the Peter Pan collar. There were a very few things I vetoed because I knew the colour just would NOT work on me and would wash me out, but other than that I just held out my arms and acted as a carrier for her.
We staggered back to the changing room and she piled it all into a large cubicle, hanging the items up as outfits. “Right, try that one on first, and then we’ll go with that one. This will go with…this, and then we’ll swap. OK, off you go.”
So I did. First on, as I was instructed, was the purple patterned ruffled jersey dress. Urk.
Oh. My. Goodness. Once I got over the boldness, it was amazing. And the lovely assistant was in raptures about how well it fitted, telling me (very quietly and almost embarrassed) that I had an amazing figure and that my bum looked fantastic in it; and that I should stop hiding.
So that one went into the ‘keepers’ pile.
As did the black and white dogtooth check trousers, with red assymetric top.
And the burgundy jeggings. (JEGGINGS?!)
And the glittery top.
The coloured jeans.
The cropped trousers. (Cropped, I tell you, cropped!)
And I swanned about in the changing room, admiring myself in the mirror, feeling like someone out of Vogue; feeling like Joanna Lumley in a fabulous, modern, edgy but appropriate way.
More and more got piled onto the keepers pile. A scarf, shoes (brogues!) and I just went with it, and went for it.
I had the money (a bonus from work that had been sitting there) and I had clothes that made me feel fabulous. If I didn’t buy them just because it was a lot of money to spend in one go, then it was a bit ridiculous – spreading the money over some months wouldn’t make it any less money. And who knows what would be available then.
So I got help to carry it all to the till, and staggered out the shop, feeling a bit like Pretty Woman.
Since then I have been wearing my new purchases (as instructed by my friends, who told me very severely that I needed to, and not to leave them hanging in the wardrobe.) and I have been feeling fabulous. It takes a little longer to choose what to wear, but I am wearing stuff I would never have thought of, and I feel amazing – today I am in brown cropped jeggings with zipped ankles, a gold sequinned jumper, peacock feather earrings and a chunky necklace. (No, there aren’t any photos. Sorry.)
I have also booked myself in to have a fabulous haircut to go with it. Not having been to the hairdresser for nigh on six months, if not longer, then I am pretty certain the Creative Director I am booked with will shout at me, in the nicest possible way.
But in the meantime I will sparkle and glow, and prance and enjoy being Fabulous Me.