The long and short of it.

28 03 2010

I bought a pair of short denim shorts this weekend. It must be a result of the “tropical” temperatures affecting my better judgment. I have a rule. If you buy it and it’s not practical – you wear it as many times as you paid pound coins for it, only then can it go to the back of the cupboard or charity shop. So I decided I had to wear them in a denim short-leggings-boots and leather jacket combo. I wore them to my friend’s house. I got to the road she lives on and started walking up it. Half way up the road I realised I didn’t know the house number, but I was confident I would recognise it. So I walked a bit further up. No, not right. I turned around and walked  back the way I’d come. No, not right either, it was definitely further up. I turned around and walked up the road again. Tried to ring her. Voicemail. So I walked back down again, loitered outside a house I  thought could be her’s, but didn’t look quite right. By now a few people were watching me, in my shorts. A stranger pacing up and down the road in dubious attire for a Sunday morning. Then it dawned on me, maybe the shorts were a bit too short (they aren’t) maybe they thought I was “working the road”. Aaaarrrrrggghhh. At 11am-on-a-Sunday-morning. The perils of being a fashion victim with an overactive imagination.




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