YESTERDAY when we got back from nursery, I hung my coat on the chair while I took Erin’s many layers off.
As is her want as a child of 17 months, she stood and pointed at my coat, loudly proclaiming the rather articulate and clear demand of “geeerrr”, which I understood at this point to mean: “Mummy I want to wear your coat!”
Toddling away, looking from the back like ET in fancy dress, she was perfectly happy, and a particular fan of the faux fur collar, leaning to one side as if to give it a little cuddle.
Not that I’m particularly precious about my clothes, but I was once a little girl too, and I seem to remember both me and Katy, parading around with our tiny feet wedged into the toe end of Mum’s pointy heels, pretending we were actually able to walk in them.
I particularly remember my late Grandma’s dressing up box. There were hats she’d worn to weddings, furs (actual real fox furs), bright red and orange necklaces, silk scarves and floral dresses. We would regularly dress up and put on shows for the family - to my husband’s horror might I add (he descends from a family of am-drams and narrowly escaped a lifetime of dressing up!)
In fact, I think me and my sis, were the key protagonists in the downfall of my Mum’s wedding dress, and have probably been responsible for the demise of many other outfits over the years.
On reflection I think I’ll:
A - find somewhere to hide my wedding dress
B - make sure our future ‘dressing up box’ has a clear ‘I don’t wear this anymore’ policy
C - attempt to calm the husband down at the thought of anyone dressing up and putting on a show!
Right, I’m off to borrow one of my Mum’s coats!
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