It’s been quite a week at WM Headquarters. What with numerous fabric issues – some insurmountable – rearing their ugly heads, plenty of stitching for orders required this month, someone chasing a frock that had already been delivered (I knew I sent that one Special Delivery for a reason!) and a major hurdle just blown out of the water, it’s no wonder I eventually woke up this morning very, very late and with a horrid, dull headache. Thankfully, the Mr Tigglesworth (aka The Ginger Whinger) kept most of his disapproval to himself (mainly because I fed him immediately and even he finds it difficult to yowl with a gob full of Royal Canin) and the chigguns were more interested in corn than giving me grief. Funny how feeding things usually puts a stop to whinging, isn’t it? It works with everything from poultry and cats to children, teenagers and men. Obviously, with teenagers you have to factor in the accusatory looks, stabbing with a fork and obligatory “Are you trying to kill me?” glares but provided you’ve coped with their latest vegan/no green stuff/if it doesn’t come with breadcrumbs I don’t want to know sensibilities, you’re still on to a winner.
After a bit of gentle pruning* in the garden to see if a spot of fresh air would help, I gave up and donned my trusty Toggis for a rampage over the moor with Alfred. And here’s the shocker; I didn’t bother with make-up and my hair wasn’t exactly sleekly groomed. I know. I’m sorry, I should have warned you. Used as you are to the image of Miss Wednesday never leaving her dressing room without being fully frocked and with a full face of maquillage, this is a bit much for you. But, truth be told, she does occasionally – usually on Sundays – skip the eyeliner and bright lipstick. Today there was just a coat of Besame mascara and a smear of Besame cherry lip balm, because without those she really is frightening. On days when all you want to do is put your head under pillow in a darkened room, a full face of makeup is just not happening, public image or no.
Inner Goddess: Oh no! What if somebody sees me? What will they think?
Inner Realist: For goodness sakes, you’re five foot feck all and 46. That makes you invisible. Nobody’s going to even see you. Especially if you hide behind the dog.
So Alfred and I went over the moor, hoping for a nice quiet rampage with no extraneous people. Alfred had been fed and I’m not a people person so there really was no need. Naturally, this meant that we saw plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine and blackberries. And what did I hear, when I’m trudging along, feeling like a bug-eyed mutant whilst attempting to control a huge, manky deerhound who has his eye on a big bag of freshly picked fruit?
“Oh my goodness, that is a GREAT dress!”
Excuse me?! Here am I, wandering, sans maquillage and heels, traipsing over Beastly Bodmin Moor with the Hound of the Baskervilles and a random bloke notices my frock?
“I’m sorry, but it’s fabulous. And I do like to compliment wonderful things.”
Well. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. Your compliment is much appreciated.
Don’t ever let anybody tell you that you shouldn’t compliment a stranger. It’s not sexist – women are just as capable of appreciating a well cut suit as men are a decent frock – and quietly telling the wearer of your approval is always appreciated. And there’s nothing whatsoever stopping a woman from telling another woman she looks amazing, ditto a chap. (“Suits you, sir!”) Just as enjoying what you wear makes life more fun for you, having other people appreciate your effort just adds to that happiness.
In fact, I’d go as far as to say that by dressing well, we aspire to enrich the lives of others. Isn’t it nicer to see people dressed beautifully than slouching along in gratuitous sportswear? Of course it is.
And it just goes to show that you should never underestimate the power of a good frock…
* For ‘gentle pruning’, read ‘wholescale destruction’. And be grateful I didn’t train as a hairdresser…