Decisions decisions

This morning it seemed like the sun was going to come out, I looked outside and tried to guestimate how cold it would be.

Tights or Bare Legs? The decisions you face in the morning… (like: Wash hair or 5 more min in bed. Heels or flats?)

I decided to go with the latter (on all three questions in fact). As I closed my front door behind me I was not unhappy with my choice: it wasn’t too cold. I was wearing a cardigan and a coat to balance out the short denim skirt. (Yes, gentlemen: every day is another wardrobe battle.) However as I was approaching the station, the area where I live being fairly corporate, I began to become more paranoid.

All of a sudden I realised that no one. NO ONE. was bare legged. I would even go as far as saying that I only saw 60 dernier out there, not even 40 or 20. 6-0. Black tights opaque tights some even in boots! Though personally I think that is the other extreme. Every one was pretty much suited and booted and YES I KNOW that is because of where I live; but gawd it does make you paranoid.

Being short, and normally proportioned, my legs are short, they have a couple funny marks on them through a tiny chemical defuzzing incident… (It is true, you have to test before you get any hair removal cream on any part of your body ladies; any allergic reaction and you will end up scarred. Fact.) and ok not being white I can not claim they’re pale but it’s not like their are gloriously golden tanned either. Every little thing started growing in my head, all of a sudden I remembered why I didn’t wear skirts until 21- no joke : when I was 11 my friend’s mum decided to utter the immortal words: “You don’t mind me saying this do you, but you do have chunky legs don’t you?”  Of course I didn’t mind her saying that… I just hid my legs for the next decade.

So here I was walking the streets of London with my chunky scarred short legs. I know I don’t have chunky legs – they aren’t thin, but surely they aren’t chunky?! – anyway not the point when it is all happening in your head: it is real. But at the same time I realised that I was still not cold and still quite happy with my clothing choice were it not for the funny looks I got.

Women are worse than men – I know because I do it. Though I usually do it thinking: “Gawd she must be cold.”  Which I wasn’t. Still I got the look from some women in the street and who knows what they might be thinking! (If men look I don’t care, not even about what they are thinking. Women dress for women. Another fact.)

Then I saw my reflection in a window: Ah. I might have spotted the wardrobe malfunction: since I am short my  trench-coat nearly covered my skirt so I basically looked like a female streaker with glasses, ready to strike.  A quick rejiggle of the coat and more of my actual clothes were to be seen, it was the best I could do.

Awkwardness or Just going with it. The decisions you face in the morning…

Half way through the day I decided again to go with the latter and everyone else with a problem can kiss my legs!

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