The first outfit of the year
I know January 10th probably seems a little late to be wearing the first outfit of the year, but don’t worry: I haven’t been in pyjamas up until now. Well, not ALL the time, anyway. No, because I’m hopelessly disorganised (And also because I decided to dedicate the last few days of the holidays to watching the final season of Gossip Girl, let’s be honest), I’m just getting round to posting these now, but the outfit was actually worn on January 1st, for our traditional New Year’s Day dinner.
Funny story about that skirt, though. As you can see, it’s pale pink. It’s also Duchess satin, and therefore kind of delicate. I had to go through one of my customary clothing hunts (in which an item I love is sold out instantly, and I sit there refreshing the brand’s website for as long as it takes for them to either re-stock, or for someone to return one in my size) to get it, and I don’t consider that time to be wasted either, because when this skirt arrived, I immediately declared it to be the Most Beautiful Thing Ever: it’s such excellent quality, and so beautifully made that I would never have guessed it had come from Topshop. (No offence to Topshop, by the way. Love you!)
But it’s pink. And pale. And I am clumsy, and also messy. And I was wearing it to a dinner, at which I would likely stuff myself silly, and drop half of my food, plus probably a bottle of red wine or something, onto the beautiful skirt. I was worried, in other words. I mean, I don’t have a good track record with spillages, and I felt this skirt was just the thing that would attract some kind of Mark of Death, so I briefly considered just not wearing it, and keeping it wrapped in cotton wool forever. Then I realised that would be silly, so I wore it anyway, and as it turned out, my fears were unrealised: much to the surprise of everyone present, I got through the entire day, plus quite a lot of food, without so much as a single mark on the skirt. I also managed to take these photos – these OUTSIDE photos – with the skirt remaining as pristine as the day I bought it.
(My hair not so much, obviously: the wind is definitely not my friend…)
I came home feeling pretty smug, to be completely honest. Not only had I managed to keep my clothes stain free, like a real adult, I had also had the foresight to bring a pair of waterproof flats with me, in which to squelch my way from car to door and back again, thus ensuring that my pale pink satin heels remained stain-free too.
It was the flats that were my downfall. It always is, isn’t it? You’d think it would be the heels that would cause all the problems, but you would be wrong, because any time I have a shoe-related incident, flats are almost always to blame. And so it was on this occasion.
I got into the house, removed the flats at the door (So that I would also preserve my carpets, which are once again clean following The Rubin Incident: seriously, would you LOOK at how careful I was being!), and carried them upstairs…
… where I discovered they’d picked up a ton of mud, which had, of course – OF COURSE – instantly transferred itself to the skirt.
That mysterious howl of anguish you heard that day? The one that sounded like it was coming from a very great distance? That would’ve been me, screaming in frustration at the fact that I had somehow managed to eat food, drink wine and walk over muddy ground in my pristine skirt, spending the entire day in it, only to get it covered in mud at the last second, and IN MY OWN HOME.
It was a lot of mud. A LOT of mud. It was all over the skirt, and also all over my hand, which I actually noticed first. I was reaching to open my desk drawer when I glanced down, noticed my mud-covered palm, and promptly freaked out, because at that point I had NO IDEA how it had got there, I had been so careful (not to mention SO INDOORS for most of the day). I must have stared at that hand for a good thirty seconds, Lady Macbeth-style, wondering if I’d blacked out at some point and gone out to dig a grave in some kind of strange fuge state. Honestly, I was kind of relieved when I realised it had come from the shoes. I mean, mud-on-your-pink-skirt is bad, but discovering that you have a secret double-life, in which you do God know what in the garden would be WAY worse, no?
The skirt is now at the dry cleaners. Pray for it now, in the hour of its need. Also, remember to check your shoes for mud when you decide to carry them around while wearing pale coloured satin skirts. Learn from my mistakes, people! Because SOMEONE has to, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be me.