Glamorouse

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

let me get this right

You can actually wear clothes that cover everything (from the remnants of incubating to the innumerable misdemeanours involving packets of mint slices) while simultaneously giving the impression you are immenently going to engage in some form of athletic activity for the betterment of your body and mind. GET OUT. Here I was slothing around in Target trackies (I find Kmart ones lose their shape far quicker and use a substandard elastic that is known to fail at the most inappropriate therefore most highly embarrassing moments) and a XXXL t-shirt of my husbands (who has never incubated so has no excuse) just wondering when we were going to move into a caravan and truly believe Coke is a legitimate beverage substitute for water. That and get a mangy dog. I have a confession. Yesterday I said ironing was for pussies. Today I am in a LINEN maternity shirt. Its oversized (of course) so I look like a Darrell-Lea Lady but without the bow (I'm saving that for when I'm 30 weeks and resemble Gilbert Grape's mother) but worst of all... its pink. There is good reason. I promise. Below are detailed recent wardrobe malfunctions involving sexy maternity gear that involves lycra and other plastic fabrics: - walking to work from the bus I suddently felt a chill. My maternity skirt had FALLEN (the only time anything has every fallen off my body as most of my clothing has permanent etchings on my body to which they were virtually nail-gunned) half way down my thighs, so the group of camera-men setting up a film shoot I was walking past copped a full view of incubus gut, gusset and maternity bullet-proof undies. I can only imagine the years of therapy I caused. - walking to work from the bus - AGAIN - my modified stockings (think normal stockings but with a self-delivered scissor cut down through the 'control brief' section to fit abovementioned incubus gut - because I'm too cheap and forgetful to buy jumbo stockings) fell to my knees. Wearing a long skirt (thank GOD) I froze for a moment, then let any skerric of remaining pride fly free on the wind as I hitched them up in full view of morning commuter crowds and traffic, then waddled to the convenience store and bought the biggest nanna stockings I could find. So today is it safe navy pants and my pink linen shirt. I am living proof you can take the girl off the North Shore, incase her in a life of poverty and let her swear like a bastard, but not the North Shore out of the girl. Miss Buckham would be so proud. KP

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