I zipped out the door this morning to work (on foot) looking, I fear, like one of those elderly when-I-am-an-old-woman-I-shall-wear-purple women: black shoes, purple/grey/black-striped socks, black tights, purple corduroy skirt, black t-shirt, black corduroy jacket, purple striped scarf (the best thing about the outfit, and knitted by one of my sisters) and a black beret. Black leather over-the-shoulder handbag and a red floral-patterened vinyl lunch bag. I was certain that people were pointing at me (I should be so lucky!) and guffawing.
What have I become? It was a moment of weakness, insight into a possible future to which I shall approach only if I am drugged dragged.
Tomorrow it's back to my Seattle de rigueur grey or black. With black. And perhaps a little more black, just to be sure.