Metropolitan Mum tagged me last week, and since my brain seems to have gone into hibernation, I thought I'd make use of the blog fodder and do it. However, when I popped back over to her blog, there was just this delightful photo of her 3 month baby, complete with pink frilly knickers. Very sweet, and I'm glad I'm past that stage as she's totally knackered.
Anyway, the tag wasn't there although I remember it was all about the number 8. So I'm just going to make a few 8-based things up and throw them at you:
8 items of clothing I should really get rid of:
- the pink MGM t-shirt I often work out in. There's not a thing wrong with it; in fact, I am thinking of writing to Hanes to report that it hasn't lost its shape or colour - after 18 years! Yes, that's right. I bought it the year after the Ball & Chain and I got married. I should really buy myself some decent workout stuff instead of wearing baggy t-shirts with ridiculous slogans on, (such as "Who are these kids and why are they calling my MOM?") but this one hangs quite nicely (ie. not gripping onto the lumpy bits) so it stays.
- my gray underwear collection. They didn't used to be gray, but well, you know how it is. I keep buying replacements, but none live up to the fit of the gray collection. They don't cut my belly in half, they're not visible through clothing and they haven't lost their elasticity. They are very, very gray though - to the point that I can't bring them to England any more because my mother (who does my laundry for some reason - she never did when I was living there) would throw them out and rush off to Marks to buy me some new ones.
- the gorgeous red silk pencil skirt I bought when I was the thinnest I have ever been (as a mother, that is). I could barely fit into it then and if I ever got back into it, I would probably look hideous as the weight comes off my face first, ageing me about ten years overnight. I don't know why I'm keeping it as I don't want to be thin enough to fit into it. Well, I would love to be that thin but as I said, I would get thin on my face and bum which isn't a good look once you reach a certain age. You know - the old-lady-with-flat-bum-look? Yeah, that one.
- the gingham apron I was forced to sew by hand at the age of about nine. It's yellow and white, and covered in cross-stitch. Hideous. It doesn't even hold fond memories as my teacher made me re-do the hem about five times. I must have visions of future generations saying "Look - you're great, great, great, grandmother, you know the batty one from England, made this erm, thing when she was little." As it is, it's scrunched up in a bag at the back of a shelf. If I attempt to take it out it'll probably crumble into a pile of fibres. Best leave it where it is.
- my point shoes. Every so often they get dragged out for some school show and tell or other. They are so old that the Plaster of Paris in the toes (yes, we used to stand upright on Plaster of Paris) now resembles chalk dust, and the soles have seperated into about 8 layers. However, when the Queenager did a physics project about the construction of different kinds of dance shoes, they were a marvellous prop for her. They are a bit smelly though. I think I must be hanging on to them in case anyone ever questions my dancing past, because I certainly don't look like a ballerina these days. (I have a fabulous pair of newish tap shoes, and with enough Pinot Grigio, often demonstrate the time step with the shuffle in the middle).
- I know this is cheating but - everything else. I have so many clothes that I loathe, that don't fit or quite simply aren't remotely flattering, I should just chuck the lot and buy new ones. That however, would mean I would have to go out shopping - picking through the impossibly young clothes to find something that is fitting for an over-25 year old, finding the fitting rooms, taking my clothes off, , realising that the top I'm trying on is, in fact, a short dress (no way), putting everything back on the hangers and stomping off, etc. etc. Bloody exhausting. How I used to shop ALL DAY before I was married is beyond me. Obviously I hadn't a thing in the world to do. It's even worse when the Queenager insists on coming cause she makes me come out of the fitting room and does a "What Not To Wear" appraisal on the whole spectacle, usually with an audience sniggering away in the other fitting rooms.
OK, enough about meme.