[Whistles boots and jeans, Boden coat and jumper, All Saints tote bag]
I know, it’s a poor photo but I like the sun and there’s a slightly better photo below where, for once, I think that I look vaguely healthy as opposed to the tonsillitis infected cold ridden creature that I have been of late. My Mum will be relieved! Here I was dressing for the snow – but not in anything that you haven’t seen already!
On another note, I have to say that I spent a couple of days slightly concerned as to how I was going to break it to Mr SG that I had donated a very substantial amount of his clothes (about 80% I would say) to charity, without him knowing.
It all started because he complained that he couldn’t hang his suits up as too many of my clothes were in his wardrobe and could I possibly take a look. Which I did. And my conclusion was that it wasn’t actually my clothes that were the problem but rather it was his. So I bagged up the rejects and dropped them off for charity before you could say “moth eaten cashmere jumper”. Efficient, I think you will agree.
So finally I told him – but actually the fact that he hadn’t noticed probably says all that you need to know.
“You had some really minging clothes.” I think is what I said to him.
“Which ones were minging?” He asked.
“The ones that you no longer I own.” I replied. “The ones that are currently in bin bags at the entrance to Flo’s school waiting to be collected for charity” I added. To which he laughed and said:
“We both know that I wouldn’t have noticed, not as long as you replaced them with something else for me to take from the top of the pile.” Which is his modus operandi when it comes to getting dressed.
So now I have bought him a whole new wardrobe. It’s taken hours, I’ve hunted high and low and over the weekend he will have to engage in his favourite (!) activity – trying clothes on. And then if he likes them, he’s going to have to wear them. No more flying under the radar in one pair of jeans, a manky old Fat Face t-shirt and a shabby fleece. Oh no, those days are SO over. Oh how he’s going to rue the day that he ever commented that there were too many of my clothes in his wardrobe.