I have survived, but only just, the annual husband clothes-buying spree, having spent many months pointing out that his clothes (hollow laugh, here) are no longer fit for purpose. Some of them are no longer at all, in fact, but several inches shorter than when first acquired. His trousers, alone, have the distinction of falling into two camps:
a) paint spattered Jackson Pollocks
b) Jolly Jack Tars, flapping six pallid-flesh exposing inches above his ankle.
I do not lie when I say that his wardrobe has begun began to resemble the Bermuda Triangle – things disappear in it, principally buttons, zips and belts, and once the cat, never to be seen again.
Underwear? Don’t go there – I won’t! Suffice to call it a holy show.
In any case the divorce letter finally got through to him and, today, me looking grim but purposeful, him just looking grim, we braved the shops and he actually went in. As with locust-like expertise I stripped the rails, throwing jackets and trousers at him, the look on his face turned from grim to downright mutinous.
‘Fine,’ he muttered, modelling a jacket that made him look like Lurch from the Adams Family, as half the shop sniggered behind their hand. The only excuse I can think of is that he was standing at least fifteen feet away from the mirror and needs new glasses as well as new clothes. Not being Morticia, I was less than impressed and forced him to try on several more, till eventually we struck pay dirt with a tailored linen-mix in a classy shade of oatmeal. The same pantomime followed with a succession of trousers and jeans, him saying ‘fine’, me yelling ‘it’s not bloody fine – you look like Charlie Chaplin/Max Wall/Gordon Brown’ as other shoppers gave us a very wide berth and peered anxiously about for the exit points.
Eventually, though, we acquired enough booty to satisfy even me, plus I managed to persuade him of the youth-enhancing qualities of a tastefully patterned shirt – a first! Pushing my luck, I picked up a pair of dark blue ,suede loafers on our way to the checkout.
‘Never in a million years!’ he roared, the veins in his neck bulging the same colour. Reader, we bought them. Tonight, I will sleep soundly in the knowledge that peace has broken out for a further year, and that my husband will not be arrested either for vagrancy or indecent exposure.