There comes a time in every persons life, where they have to make a choice between being comfortable and glamourous.
This is my story.
I’m the type of
cheeseling person who LOVES to be comfortable and casual.
My definition of comfortable is:- To be able to throw on any ratty piece of ‘BLACK’ clothing, without feeling pangs of guilt and shame.
Now that we got that out of the way, let’s get on with the story.
I had planned to meet a friend of mine for a nice walk around the city, and by’nice’, I mean it would be all about us walking around mainly complaining about the rain. So, since that was on the books for the day, I set about trying to find something decent to wear. Like I mentioned before, I really love being comfortable, but sometimes I’m struck by this need to actually look good.
I had a difficult task ahead of me that day, to find something that was not only good to look at, but also had a certain comfortable feel to it. As most of you
eccentric weirdoes normal people know, this is a task of mammoth proportions. It took 2 hours 45 minutes, and a team of skilled models to rummage through my cupboard until we finally found something that seemed interesting, (I might have a fibbed a little in that last sentence).
I looked at the garment carefully, it seemed too good to be true. With shaking fingers and a racing heart, I tried it on and Voila! it fit like a charm. I had finally found the holy grail of lazy girl clothing. Just that moment, as I stood in my fabulous clothes, my mother walked into my room. She eyed me up and down and calmly said, “ Why are you wearing my blouse? Stop stealing my clothes.” Then she just walked out of the room, with what I’m sure was a very evil glint in her eyes.
And that, my friends is the story of how I will never be able to be both comfy and fashionable. It is also the story of how the ‘glam’ gene passed me on. It is also probably the story of a mother’s struggles with a socially impared daughter.