The other day I was slapping some sunscreen on my face when a pair of furry EARS rose up from behind the mirror frame.
The tall mirror, unhung six months after moving in, was leaning against the side of the trusty brown IKEA Malm drawers. On top of the drawers was an open box of Dietgirl paperbacks that I’ve been meaning to deal with for some time. And on top of the Dietgirls sat the evil fluffy cat from next door.
He must have come in through the bathroom window and ducked upstairs when I wasn’t looking. He gave me a scornful look when I shrieked in surprise. Then he turned around and nestled back down into the box. I told him to rack off but he just hissed then purred aggressively. So I took a couple of photos, then he went to sleep for half an hour.
Then he woke up, gave me another “what are you looking at?” look before scuttling off downstairs and back out the window, leaving me the books with as much fluff outside as in.
Speaking of the Malm, I have developed a funereal clothing situation. Despite The Mothership’s investment in Getting My Colours Done, somehow over the past few years my wardrobe has reverted to dreary, prison-like shades. Navy, black, grey, brown.
It wasn’t a conscious thing, but now it is clear that as I went through that gloomy, gradual relardification period, I slowly replaced my colourfuls with Don’t Notice Me items. I didn’t clock how bad it had become until a few weeks ago, our friends visited and we all stayed at a pub for the night. The next morning I went to put on the grey top I’d packed, only to find it was actually grey tracky dacks, because I’d grabbed the wrong piece of blah from the Malm.
Also, I’m constantly losing items of clothing, because they all blur together in the drawer. It’s always a frenzy of cotton before my walks as I can never find The Black T-Shirt For Exercise as opposed to The Black T-Shirt For Leaving The House or The Black T-Shirt For Sleeping In. Made worse by having black IKEA Malm compartment thingies and a black laundry basket.
After the Grey Tracky Dacks incident I said to Gareth, “Have you noticed that my clothes are grim as fuck?”
And he said, “Oh yeah. You’re like one of those grannies in mourning.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I thought maybe it was a look you were going for?”
Now that I’ve finally noticed the mourning wardrobe, it is bloody awful! At some point it must have been working for me – the outsides matched the insides. But it’s no longer where I’m at. I’m taking good care of myself; my health and fitness is back on track. Life is pretty cool! I can’t just go replace everything, so I’ve started by dusting off the bright lipsticks and scarves, and I bought a tomato red handbag on eBay that is pure JOY every time I look at it. Bring on the technicolor.