“Wear a frock every day for the month, it will be fun,” they said. Let me tell you right now, it is not fun. Actually, frocks suck a little bit. I’m not totally averse to a nice frock, especially throwing a maxi on to sit in the sunshine and drink wine, but wearing them every day, no matter what the weather is doing, is a bit shit.
- Where am I going to put all my stuff?
The first weekend of wearing frocks and I had the Robbie Williams concert to go to. The last thing I want to do is hold onto a bag while trying to flail my arms around above my head in my completely coordinated manner. So I looked for an ‘over the shoulder’ bag that I could cross over in front of me, therefore reducing the chance of said bag being flung into the seating area during said flailing. That search was unsuccessful, and I ended up with a clutch stuffed to the brim with phone, lippy, keys, etc etc. And arm flailing was kept to a minimum.
2. Wind + frock = disaster
There is nothing quite like sashaying down St George’s Terrace in your lovely frock when a gust of wind surprises you and you end up with your lovely frock up around your ears in the middle of peak hour. Add rain and the need to hold an umbrella to this picture, and things start to get even worse. Add the fact you do not have your bag with you and you are carrying your phone and notebook to a meeting… you get the picture. The only way to avoid this embarrassment is to adopt the inward- penguin-step-waddle as you grip onto the hem of your frock for dear life, clutching it around your backside and jam all the things you need to hold into your armpit.
Shaving my legs every day is about as appealing to me as sitting in a small room with someone who refuses to wear deodorant. I cannot stand the idea. I have far better things to do with my time than spend it scraping a razor blade up my bloody legs every freaking day. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t leave it till it’s a lost cause, but I don’t want to be a slave to the lady-scaping. Everrrrrrr.
4. Wearing stockings
I simply cannot be trusted with sheer pantyhose. If I don’t get my nail caught on them, I put a toe through them… before I’ve even stepped out the door. If for some reason I do manage to get out the door with them on and intact, it’s bets on as to when a ladder will magically appear. Or else, I spend my entire day trying to pull them up so they don’t hang down like a teenage boy’s pair of jeans. Stockings are not my friend.
5. Cold. So very cold.
Today has been cold. Dresses are thin. They do not cover legs. They generally don’t cover arms either. What’s the point of wearing a dress when you are wearing pants and a cardigan as well in order to keep warm?!?!?!
Wander into work and think to self, “Good work, your frock looks lovely and well pressed.” Nek minnit, I’ve sat for an hour and next cop a glimpse of my frock in the bathroom mirror, looking as if someone has tried to craft an origami swan with it. A side note to this is my hate/hate relationship with ironing. That creased up frock will sit in my wardrobe for months now, until I decide to wash it and let it dry in the wind so I don’t have to iron it before wearing it again.