Something has to change. And as my husband makes a mean rice pudding and pulls the sofa out when he vacuums the house, I think I'll try scarves rather than divorce.
I wrote about scarves in February this year - I was clearly warming up to my dramatic conversion - and I gave you a link to a
So, I went shopping for scarves on Saturday. I received a sparkly one for Christmas by an evangelistic-about-scarves friend and, on finding that it didn't make me look too ridiculous, I decided to go and buy more. The scarf she bought me looks a bit like this. It's a reasonable size, it's neat, and behaves, as it should, like an accessory.
Why is it, then, that most of the scarves in the shops look like this, not like an accessory, but more like an invasion?
Short play entitled 'Shopping for Scarves.'
Cast: 1. Shop Assistant. 2. Customer - Mrs Yours-Truly.
Setting: Shop. Saturday morning.
'This one, Madam?'
'No, I don't want a spare king-size duvet cover. I want a scarf.'
'No. I'd like to live for a little longer, not die of accidental suffocation before I'm 53.'
'Maybe this one?'
'Shrouding four-fifths of my height in cotton will leave only my feet on public view. I will look like a walking pile of laundry.'
'I think you misheard. It's just for me, not for me plus extended family group and assorted friends.'
'What about this one?'
'That could keep Greenland warm. We're only talking 'one neck' here.'
'Try this one?'
'Isn't that one just for people who never need to get through doors?'
'This woolly cream one?'
'If a sheep tries to mate with me on my way out of here, you would be to blame.'
'How about this? Try this on. Here, let me put it on you.'
'Mfn mfn mmmfff nggfff mnnggffffhh.'
In the end, after much trial and tribulation, I arrived home with four reasonably-sized scarves which didn't make me look as though I'd been ambushed by a more powerful force. Three were from the Oxfam shop and one was £6 from Monsoon (down from £22 in the sale, and it's barely bigger than a handkerchief. Criminal price.) Then, yesterday, I opened a present from my sister (late pressie-swapping session) and it was a dinky little purple scarf to add to my collection.
None of them has asphyxiated me so far, hence I am still alive to inflict this blog post on you. Happy Year of the Scarf to you all.