As anticipated, Friend Sarah and I went clothes shopping on Thursday night and I did indeed buy a couple of things that were not ill-fitting or ridiculous. One of my new tops made it's debut when I went to collect Jamie from nursery. It's peasant-ish and gingham, and I look a bit like a Bavarian milkmaid. But hopefully in a good way. If I were a horse, I'd look a bit like this:
So mundane and predictable is my wardrobe, Jamie immediately noticed that I had a new top and made a fuss over me, 'Oh, Mummy, I like your new top. It nice. You so smart.' I picked him up onto my hip, and gave him a cuddle. I was pleased, and thought 'Aww, what a wee sweetheart...'.
But then he turned to the janitor (who was loitering waiting for all the kids to leave), and said, 'You like my mum? You like her top?' Blushing as I attempted to clip his wretched buggy straps, I muttered, 'Shh, Jaim, it's fine, just leave it.' But he persisted, and stepped up the sales pitch. As I leaned over him, he cupped his small hand around my bosom, making a feature of it. 'You like? You think she nice?', inviting the janitor to look at my chest. He's never needed an invitation before, but now he was being given carte blanche. 'Mmm,' he leered in full Carry On style, 'Yes, I do like your mum.' Jamie was pleased, I was mortified.