Sunday, 13 June 2010

Little green dress

A few weeks ago, the Impster popped the question. 'Granny, where was I bought?' My mother, appalled by the venality and vulgarity of one so young promptly explained that not everything in life is bought, and that many of the best things are made.

I have to excuse the Impster's love of shopping (though not her insistence that we take the Boo back and exchange him for a girl), because it's probably genetic. And who can say that they've not been perked up from time to time by a successful shopping trip?

Last bank holiday weekend was spent at a wedding in Ripon. K was carrying out his bestmanly duties on the morning of the wedding by writing his speech, in his head it would seem, whilst strolling around the city. But he was not so focused on the task that he failed to notice a dress in a little boutique that he thought was made for me. Isn't that nice? And a useful reminder that while he might not be one of life's planners, he can pick out a good dress at twenty paces. Where a shopping trip with a girlfriend is my personal hell, K has that kind of endless patience for clothes shopping as rare as hen's teeth in a heterosexual male. He also matches it with a stunning tenacity for sourcing desired items on line (which is how we end up with a house full of so much stuff).

As soon as I saw it I agreed, it was the most exquisite dress known to womankind. So despite said boutique being closed on Sunday and Monday, the following weekend I took delivery of the lesser-spotted little green dress.

Did I tear it open with excited anticipation? Did I hell. Since giving birth to the Boo, I make a freaky little figure of a woman, still pixie like, but with a tummy resembling Mr Greedy's. Aside from saving us a fortune in new clothes because nothing ever fits, the singularity of my shape has led the Impster to point and ask, reasonably enough, 'Is there another baby brother in there?' 'No, I'm just a bit fat.' 'Oh good.' Hmmm.

Discovering that the dress you love actually loves you back, that it disguises your fatal flaws and brings out all your best points, is just about as hard as finding a man who can perform the same trick. So on the occasions I pull it off, I'm on a high for days.

The dress has made me insane with delight, and as I whooped around the house, aglow with love for both dress and husband, even the Boo knew it was a special moment. Here endeth the first lesson of his boyhood: girls love to shop, and boys who encourage them can do very nicely for themselves.


  1. I can imagine that dress suiting you incredibly well - it's really beautiful.
    Mr Trefusis has no patience for shopping, and since we have wildly different opinions about what consitutes a Good Dress, it's probably just as well. His usual comment is 'That looks appalling. I assume it's fashion', though he's recently taken to threatening to burn a dress I bought from Cos on the grounds that it makes me look like a Greek Orthodox priest. Nice. I am sticking to the opinions of Trefusis Minor who can be relied upon to say, dutifully, 'You look lovely, Mummy'. Boo will learn to do the same, but if the Impster is anything like the Tiniest Trefusis, I recommend getting a lock up box to prevent the migration of all your handbags, shoes and fancy jewels to her possession...

  2. Fantastic dress!

    You have a husband that can buy you a DRESS!!!! In a style that he knows you will like, in colours that suit you.....

    I am suffering from serious husband-envy ;-)

    Ali x