The perils of retro dresses

On Friday, I went out for dinner with my Fabulous Cousin (and, on an unrelated note, one of the funniest people I know). We got talking about my dress (from Lady V London, I love it – review to come), which then led onto my Lovely Sister mentioning how I only ever wear dresses. My Fabulous Cousin was genuinely horrified to find out that I don’t have ‘slobbing out clothes’, or ‘sloggies’ if you will. The conversation went something like this…

“So, even if you’re watching TV, you’re wearing a dress?”
“Yes.”

“How about if you’re feeling ill, do you still wear a dress?”
“Well, if I’m lying in bed, no, but if I’m up, why wouldn’t I?”

“But…what about when you get in from work?!”
“Yep, pretty much just keep a dress on before I get in the shower.”

“How do you relax though?!”
“The same way as everyone else…but…you know. Wearing a dress.”

And so on (this went on for quite some time). I know some people think I’m a bit odd for wearing only dresses (or occasionally, skirts), and there are occasions where I’ve thought this myself. I thought I’d take you through some of the situations where I’ve thought ‘I really should be wearing trousers for this…’

1. Running down the escalator at Kings Cross (or London Bridge. Or any station, come to that), where my particular dress style (1950s, sans petticoat for work) often causes me to have a Marilyn moment and flash my pants to my fellow commuters. Who I then have to get on the Tube with. Which leads me to…

2. Being so squashed up against everyone else on the Tube, that when someone lifts up their briefcase/bag off the floor, they take my dress with them, again causing me to flash my pants at my fellow commuters (writing this down is making me realise I spend a large portion of my day flashing my pants at people. I need to get better pants. Or sew weights into my hems – I heard the queen does that. As fashion role models go, she’s not the worst).

3. Bending down to feed the cat of a morning, and my hem gets caught in the water bowl, leaving me with an attractive water mark (that I never have time to dry, because I am always running late. Always.)

4. Getting my hems caught in various car/train/Tube/house doors, and having to get someone to help me get unstuck. Or saying nothing in the case of the train/Tube, and hoping no-one notices.

5. Walking holidays. As longtime readers of this blog will know (hey guys, how are you?), The Boy loves a walking holiday. We went to the Lake District earlier in the year, and I insisted on wearing my pretty dresses with walking boots. There are not many men who, when faced with a girlfriend in an inappropriate-for-the-current-situation dress and a pair of Next walking boots (see, they’re not even proper walking boots!), will simply smile and say ‘Ok, ready to go dear?’. He is a keeper.

It does lead to some funny looks from the other walkers though…ah well, makes a change from looking at all the natural beauty of the Lakes I guess.

6. Being around small children. While none of my friends (adorable) children have ever done this, one small boy belonging to a complete stranger did lift my dress up. Which once again led me to flash my pants at those present. It’s ok, it was only in the middle of New Look. On a related note, I scared a small child in Boots this weekend (I can’t be sure if it was the dress. It may have been the hair flower. Or the red lipstick), who whispered “Go away lady, go away”, before saying it again about six times, then hiding behind his dad’s legs. And people wonder why I’m awkward around children…

7. Moving house. As I mentioned last week, it’s not so long ago that The Boy and I moved in together, and I’m not entirely sure wearing a dress while carrying (among other things) two sofas, two bedframes, a dining room table and chairs and a Welsh dresser was my most sensible idea.

I can honestly say though, that I’ve never thought to myself, “Oh I do wish I was wearing a restricting pair of jeans while reclining on this sofa with my packet of biscuits, watching How I Met Your Mother.” Not once.

Also, as my Lovely Sister pointed out, I’ve now worn dresses for so long (I think it’s been about three years since I wore trousers at all, except in the gym. And I’ve not been to the gym for about two and a half years, so…) I’d look ‘really weird’ if I were to wear trousers. So, you know.

Carrie-Ann

This is me in the Lindy Bop Ophelia dress, which I love so much I’m considering wearing it around the house, to the supermarket and in place of pyjamas.

Aside

Wednesday’s Weighty Post

So, it was my first Slimming World session this evening (I know, shocking – I’ve reached the grand old age of 29 without having joined any sort of slimming class. That may go some way to explaining my somewhat squidgy bum, and unhealthy attachment to Guylian Chocolate Seashells).

Don’t get me wrong, I do weigh myself regularly. Well. Once a month. If I’m feeling brave. But being weighed during the session this evening was quite different. For example, there was nothing to gently lean my upper body on. Nor was there the option to gently rest one foot on the scale, while the other took most of my weight. And, to my astonishment, they started the scale at zero. Not slightly nudged to the left (only possible with my preferred old-fashioned, non-digital scales).

As a result, it was even worse than I feared – I thought I was going to vomit at one point. However, the wonderful lady who weighed me let me stare straight ahead instead of looking at the scale, and even reassured me that she wouldn’t add my starting weight to my log book (that’s right, you get a log book, and all manner of other literature that I’ll talk about in more detail in a later post…still trying to ‘digest’ everything) (see what I did there? It was a food joke. I know, my jokes get funnier.) and to just mention to the lady who weighs me next week that I don’t want to know how much I weigh, just how much I lose (or gain).

So, while I cannot confirm with any certainty that I do weigh less than a baby elephant, I’m hopeful that it’s still the case. Everyone in the room was lovely, which made the whole process somewhat easier to bear, but I am mortified I let myself get into this state. I’m often mortified at the things I let myself do, but this really takes the biscuit (as it were).

Anyhoo, the ordeal is over, and I’m currently feeling very positive about what to do next. The fridge has been pre-emptively stocked with jelly (which I’m reliably informed is just as good as Guylian Chocolate Seashells), and I’m currently working out this week’s meal plan. I fully expect this chirpy attitutude to last until approximately lunchtime tomorrow, when I realise I can no longer visit any of the food stations in the mall near where I work (the Caffe Nero withdrawal is set to be particularly unpleasant. Particularly as I’m currently smack bang in the middle of my latest loyalty card).

Wish me luck!