So imagine this. You've decided to wear a pretty skirt with some chunky tights and your trusted knee high boots. Obviously over the tights you put on some socks to prevent chafing and bobbling of the tights. What you don't count on is that you forgot to take your boots in for re-heeling.
Dammit.
So you take off the boots and socks, bung on your trainers safe in the knowledge that your only other pair of shoes that would go are conveniently sitting under your desk at work. Off you go. No worries.
Except that would only happen to the shiny organised women who populate glossy magazines and chick lit books. What happens in the real world? This:
As above apart from when we get to the taking the boots and socks off. The Daughter is running around deciding to wear one trainer and one boot. I have to tickle-wrestle her to get her to wear a pair (we compromised on the trainers). She's all sorted and happily strapped into her pushchair cheerfully telling me that we're running late.
No shit Sherlock - we're always running late.
I hastily pull off the left boot and sock. Trainer on. Done. Right boot off. Trainer on. Done.
Did I mention I was wearing rainbow stripe socks? They kinda stand out against the inky black of my tights. Did I notice this?
No. Of course I didn't.
The first time I notice this? When I spot the cute guy I see in the morning walking back to my office having dropped The daughter off at nursery. He smiles at me as normal then scans down, eyes resting on The Rogue Sock. His flirtatious smile melts into a smirk. The horror of embarrassment threatens to make me blush. I have seconds to save this situation - my morning stranger flirtation depends on it.
Shiny hair. Shiny hair will always save the day. A quick swing of that, a slightly embarrassed smile and a brief shrug of the shoulders and I carry on, hardly breaking my stride. Until I get round the corner and hastily whip off the offending sock and curse my bad luck.
Damn that rogue sock...
Dammit.
So you take off the boots and socks, bung on your trainers safe in the knowledge that your only other pair of shoes that would go are conveniently sitting under your desk at work. Off you go. No worries.
Except that would only happen to the shiny organised women who populate glossy magazines and chick lit books. What happens in the real world? This:
As above apart from when we get to the taking the boots and socks off. The Daughter is running around deciding to wear one trainer and one boot. I have to tickle-wrestle her to get her to wear a pair (we compromised on the trainers). She's all sorted and happily strapped into her pushchair cheerfully telling me that we're running late.
No shit Sherlock - we're always running late.
I hastily pull off the left boot and sock. Trainer on. Done. Right boot off. Trainer on. Done.
Did I mention I was wearing rainbow stripe socks? They kinda stand out against the inky black of my tights. Did I notice this?
No. Of course I didn't.
The first time I notice this? When I spot the cute guy I see in the morning walking back to my office having dropped The daughter off at nursery. He smiles at me as normal then scans down, eyes resting on The Rogue Sock. His flirtatious smile melts into a smirk. The horror of embarrassment threatens to make me blush. I have seconds to save this situation - my morning stranger flirtation depends on it.
Shiny hair. Shiny hair will always save the day. A quick swing of that, a slightly embarrassed smile and a brief shrug of the shoulders and I carry on, hardly breaking my stride. Until I get round the corner and hastily whip off the offending sock and curse my bad luck.
Damn that rogue sock...
No comments:
Post a Comment