Showing posts with label pendulati. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pendulati. Show all posts

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Colour

When October showed her frostier side, it was time to brave Garmentia, Goddess of the flat pack wardrobe.

"Where have you been? When was the last time you had a clear out? Why am I still expected to house your old maternity tops, and you still think you can wear shorts?"

Garmentia had a weighty point to make. And she went on...

"Throw it all out NOW," she demanded, "I have never ever felt so humiliated, so debased! I'm from IKEA you know, I deserve better." (this wardrobe definitely has ideas above its station)

So I opened the doors and rummaged through the items on my shelf. Well it wasn't so much of a rummage, more of a cursory glance - it isn't exactly piled high with clothes. I was shocked by the lack of knitted seasonal warmers.Winter is coming and I only have two workable jumpers, and other than these sorry limp looking maternity tops, I have no long sleeve vests, or blouses, or sweat shirts, nothing.

Don't ask me why but until last week, I was still braving the damp air, icy droplets, plummeting temperatures in summer t-shirts and a thin cardigan shielded by a nearly warm jacket.

As I said, until last week, when I set out on a focused shopping expedition with just one item on my list; jumpers. Equipped with my debit card and a handbag sized bottle of water, the Westfield Centre welcomed me with open arms, and I went to work on mission woollen-chenille-cashmere mix. Now usually I have a miserable time shopping for clothes; my legs are too short or The Pendulati, my cumbersome breasts, make everything look plain wrong. Not on this occasion. Garmentia must have had favourable words with the other shopping Gods, Nextonia, Gapeodite, Markus-Spencus. There was an abundance of items and colour to choose from, and ... and I frivolously blew my savings, birthday money, Younger Dad's hard earned cash on not one but seven jumpers.

Now I tend to clothe myself in muted tones but this time I ventured into unknown territory; splashes of pink, orange and red highlighted the usual blues, greens, purples and greys. It felt good to have dipped my toes in new, brighter shades. And as you can see, I bought stripes, lots of cheery, cheeky stripes.    

Spot the odd one out

When I returned home I folded each jumper neatly upon the alter of Garmentia. She sighed approvingly...

"I feel like a wardrobe again. Thank you my dear!"

And I felt sweet relief that this winter I will neither feel drab nor dreary nor cold.

Linking up with The Gallery - this week's theme is colour.  

Friday, 4 May 2012

We're Going On A Bra Hunt

This post was inspired by ...

1. Today's adventure to the Big Brassiere Shop (details to follow).
2. Michael Rosen's and Helen Oxenbury's brilliant We're Going On a Bear Hunt.
3. Bibsey's very witty rendition of the same story.


We're Going On A Bra Hunt

We're going to the bra shop
We're going to buy a big one
What a beautiful H cup
Am I still that big?

Uh-oh! The 607!
A great big double decker with a bad tempered driver.
We can't go over it.
We can't go under it.

Oh no!
We have to get on it.

Excuse Me!
Excuse Me!
Excuse Me!

We're going on a bra hunt
We're going to buy a big one
What a beautiful H cup
Am I still that big?

Uh-oh! The big bra shop!
A jungle of gargantuan booby holders with pert chested, petite assistants

We can't go over it.
We can't go under it.

Oh no!
We have to get measured.

Blush Flush
Blush Flush
Blush Flush

WHATS THAT?

Two mile wide straps!
Two colossal cups!

ITS A GIGANTIC BRA!

Quick! Back through the jungle of gargantuan booby holders ! Blush Flush! Blush Flush!
Back on the double decker! Excuse Me! Excuse Me!
Get back home. Open front door. Big brassiere brochure on the mat. Run upstairs.

Oh no!

I forgot the brochure.
Run downstairs. Pick it up.
Back upstairs. Sit at the table.
Have some rescue remedy. Make a cuppa.
Turn the laptop on. Order on line .

I'M NOT GOING TO THE BRA SHOP AGAIN.


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