Sunday, 11 March 2012
Clothing, the Cosmos and Other Conspiracies
On the occasions that I get it right (which generally involve good lighting and a few hours of preening), the universe can be found to conspire against me. I'm beginning to take this cosmic spite personally, if not for the fact that its frequency is scaring me into thinking I'm being singled out by sartorial fate. Let me explain.
Last night I had a dinner party to attend and as chance would have it, the cab arrived early prompting me to fast-forward my half-finished attempt at getting dressed. Having been a bit heavy-handed with the deodorant, I slipped on my MiH light blue oversized shirt only to find the spray had seeped into the material, leaving me to look like Christy Moore after the Siege of Venice. Futile attempts were made to dry the offending stain with a hairdryer before I was forced to leave.
On the way out, I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and arrived at the soiree with my arms stuck to my sides for the duration of the evening. To add insult to proverbial injury, I discovered whilst cleaning out the fridge today that in my haste, I grabbed the wrong bottle - offering my host instead a half-empty Pinot Grigio that had been left festering on the door rack. Needless to say a rather hearty apology was made on my behalf this evening.
So yes, I seem to have more luck dressing others than myself. That being said, I savour the days when it all seems to fall into place. But as luck would have it, those are generally the occasions when I have nowhere to go.