Tag Archives: clothes

1007. Laundering


I’m having a terrible time trying to get the washing dry. I hung it out this morning – just my husband’s shirt and trousers and things – but it’s been raining all day.

The neighbour stuck her head out her window and asked why I was hanging the washing on the line when it was raining? What does your husband think of you standing in the rain hanging out the laundry? Nosey Parker.

So, the clothes won’t dry, but that’s alright. I was thinking I’d take my husband’s things and put them in the Salvation Army’s used clothing bin. I’ll do that once they’re dry.

I suppose the bullet hole in the back of the shirt won’t matter. As long as it’s clean.

970. Buying shirts


And you thought buying clothes for an eleven year old girl was hard! Just try buying shirts for an eleven year old boy! Kimberley took her son shopping for a couple of shirts.

It was one of those department stores that have a bit of everything, and a reasonable range of boys’ clothing. Nathan wanted to try everything on. Does it match? Is it the right size? Will I grow out of it too soon? The pattern wasn’t right, it was too girly.

Kimberley was at the end of her tether. “It doesn’t matter, dear. They all look nice. Just make a choice.”

But Nathan had to try on one more shirt.

That was when the terrorist bomb went off.

Listen to the story being read HERE!

865. Having a ball


Cinderella’s horrible step-mother turned a blind eye to the goings-on of her two horrible daughters. Money was going missing out of purses and wallets. Lots of money. And the two ugly sisters somehow managed to wear something different every day.

“Money is going missing out of purses and wallets,” said Cinderella’s father. “Does anyone know anything about it?”

“It’ll be Cinderella,” said the sisters. “She’s not to be trusted.”

Cinderella was made to clean out the scullery twice daily for a good two weeks.

“You naughty, deceitful, thieving hussy,” said the wicked step-mother.

Come the preparations for the palace ball and you’ve never seen such a commotion. Bodices and brassieres and negligees and pantyhose and chemises and gowns and shoes and jewellery and… what a mess the house was in with preparations. And then came the night of the ball… Off the two sisters went (with the step-mother and Cinderella’s father in tow). Were they mutton dressed as lamb or what? Cougars in gowns and thongs. Cinderella was left at home to “tidy up after all the preparations”.

Quickly she threw on her gorgeous ball gown and special glass shoes. The coach (with footmen) arrived. Off she went! And there wasn’t a fairy godmother in sight

To listen to the story being read click HERE!.

Poem 14: Bury me flamboyantly clad


Bury me flamboyantly clad.
No white silk shroud for me,
no brown and heavy sacking.
The Hawaiian shirt in the bottom drawer might do the trick
although I wouldn’t be seen dead in it while living.

Bury me flamboyantly clad.
The purple underwear perhaps,
with bright pink elastic bands.
You know the one? The faded writing used to read,
“Down dog! Down!” It’s quite unused for years.

Bury me flamboyantly clad.
No naked skin below the naval,
no hatless head with balding patch.
Green golfing trousers and yellow baseball cap.
Unironed one hopes; a bit of plaid; reverse the cap.

Bury me flamboyantly clad.
No history digger in a thousand years
must dig me up for study and say,
“Put this body back in earth.” No! No! He needs must say:
“Holy mackerel! Oh my God! Fetch the glass cabinet!”

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

183. Clothes Maketh the Man


Andrew disliked having to buy new clothes. It wasn’t so much the expense, as the difficulty he had in selecting what looked best on him. He would spend hours going from one menswear store to another. Trying this on and that on; looking in the mirror; hating what he saw; finding what he thought he liked but not in the right size. The sooner he found a lovely woman who would tell him what to wear the better. He was self-conscious even in the old clothes he had on now.

Then there were the insincere shop assistants. That looks great on you. That’s really YOU. You look sexy in that. They were no help. They wanted Andrew to give them his money and run.

It was depressing. He stood outside the door of a menswear shop in his worn jeans and torn pink shirt. His loose hooded aquamarine sweater, casually flung over his left shoulder, was something he’d bought online four years ago. He looked along the street. What were other men wearing? Black? White? 49 shades in between? He wanted a bit of colour; a bit of style; some panache without being overly bold.

A woman stared at him. Did she know him? Andrew thought she was a bit rude really, ogling like that. She entered the shop. Andrew heard her say to the shop assistant: “I’m shopping for my husband. How much is that sexy combination on the mannequin outside the door? It’s so simple yet so classy.”

Andrew went in and nearly bought the shop.