Shopping for clothes.

December 9, 2016


It's hard to go clothes shopping 
when you live in wellies and jeans,
it's those or pink pyjamas
there's not much in between.


I tend to get my work clothes
from the local agri' store,
but they are sadly lacking
if you need a little bit more.


I got some decent trousers
in the Marks and Spencer sale,
and a blouse that's quite eye catching
off their bargain basement rail.


But I have been invited
to a wedding in the spring,
and I need to get an outfit
and some classy looking bling.


The first shop that I go in
has a pretty flowery dress
but I feel like Edna Everage
and I'm getting in  a stress.


The assistant tries to help me
and insists I try some on,
whilst I'm stood there in old knickers
with the creosote stains on.


I get a lacy number
stuck tight around my arms,
the curse of country living
the arms of those who farm.


It's getting quite depressing
and I'm running out of time,
I'm squashed in a pink two piece
and she tells me I look divine.


But I see myself in the mirror
and I look like a landrace sow,
I don't have the heart to tell her
and all I can say is wow.


So I wriggle out of the pig suit
and hang it back on the rail,
but she corners me by the counter
and I stifle a heartfelt wail.


This time she's found her trump card
she holds it up with glee,
she says it is so  perfect
for someone just like me.


I see the satin ribbons
 I take in the yards of lace,
she stands their so triumphant
a smile across her face.


I look like Annie Oakley
crossed with an ugly sister,
she scampers round me proudly
her voice hushed to a whisper.


“Oh madam you look perfect
that dress is so attractive”,
but the colour is bright yellow
and I feel radioactive.


This time I make a run for it 
and escape out through the door,
before the dear assistant
can find me any more.


I think that I will give up
and have a look online,
and return to jeans and sweatshirts
and a bottle full of wine.
Jan Millward©

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