Meh. That is the best way to describe how I felt yesterday.
It started off well - I wore my bright orange silk blouse. The one which has froth and frillage in a bib shape down the front. It looks like a whole flock of Japanese folding fans have collided on my chest. It is the sort of top that makes you smile and sing little ditties about sunshine and lollipops whenever you wear it. I love it.
Then two very, very small things happened and left me feeling a little, well, meh. On the surface these look like nice little exchanges with complete strangers, but look deeper and I think they are signs of the inevitable; I am getting old.
The first exchange happened on the train, a lovely lady commented on said favourite blouse, and asked me where it was from. So what’s the problem?
The lovely lady is a twinset and pearls wearing 80 year old, that’s the problem. However, she is impeccably turned out and says “Oh yes, I know them” when I tell her it is from Ted Baker (she says it in the manner of a person vaguely recalling something). Weighing all the factors up I figure this is neither positive nor negative and continue on my way.
The second exchange takes place in one of my spiritual homes - Pret a Manger. It is predictably packed to bursting and seeing a man (I am rubbish at guessing ages but circa 20 years old) looking for somewhere to sit I offer the spare seat at my table. He says “Oh no thank you Ma’am” before explaining that he is part of a big group.
Nice and polite so what’s the biggy? Well, I just felt slightly uneasy for a while afterwards. On reflection I think it was the formal nature of his answer and body language. He was reminiscent of a high school student speaking to their head mistress when they’re are walking the fine line between detention and getting away with it. Or when they are meeting their girlfriends scary dad for the first time.
I felt older than him, a L.O.T older. That is when I realised that the inevitable was happening, I am getting old.
When I got home I critiqued my appearance and identified the offending garment responsible (clearly it is not ME). It is a size too big and lacks shape, killing the whole look. It will now be ceremoniously burnt (for the record it is not my lovely blouse nor my Reiss mac with the fantail back).
Must go, I’m off to buy some anti-ageing cream….
Becki Rowe
