Caturday Wear

Saturday morning and I am faced with the usual dilema of what to wear to go to the shops. Now I try not to be vain but sometimes vanity collides with self respect.

You see though I can scrub up quite well I would normally, at the weekend, dress in the style of a mad cat lady, one who inspires tales of fear in young children. Voluminous skirt or baggy trousers, shapeless cardigan, hair piled on the top of my head so it shows the grey underneath the dyed bits and a haggard expression. It's not pleasant but it is comfy.

However meeting a work colleague of Mr.M's a few times during our Sunday shop, with me dressed in the above, I couldn't help but feel, polite and friendly as she was, that she was wondering whether I was indeed his wife or if Mr. M. has brought his elderly and slightly strange mother out for a trip to Sainsburys.

Also there is a part of me that still retains that "OMG what if I see a boy I like" teenage reaction to exiting the house looking anything other than perfect. Though perfect in my teenage years meant shoulder pads, white boots, a studded belt and black nail polish. Of which I have only retained a liking for the latter. And of course glamming oneself up to go out takes time energy and effort of which I have enough of the first, a little of the second but am really on the can't be arsed side of things when it comes to the third.

So, for the moment, I shall just have to hope that the 42 year old version of any of my teenage crushes don't visit Maidenhead on a Saturday morning. Or, if they do, their children leave with stories of the cat hair covered lady sneezing to herself in the make up aisle of Superdrug