As I mentioned in the last post, I wore a suit to work a couple of days ago.
Such is the rarity of the event that I had a bit of a panic when I got the suit out of the wardrobe. The thing is, I have a few suits, but they are mostly at my Mother's house (because I never wear them). So, I only actually have the one here in paris - the one that I bought for my cousin's wedding last September.
Unfortunately - well actually I think it's fortunately - I have lost a fair bit of weight since the wedding. This means that the suit wasn't exactly a snug fit. Keeping my trousers up was a major issue (keep the jokes to yourself). Not classy.
Anyway, I arrived in the office and Debbie, from her coign of vantage behind her desk, surveyed the chic-ness that was my elegant get-up.
Now, despite the fact the suit was a little large, I still think I looked very chic. Dark blue suit, lovely shirt (white, with fine pin stripes in brown and electric blue) good shoes (Kenneth Cole, thank you) all topped off with my usual elegant demeanour and winning smile.
"Is your suit navy blue?" said Debbie.
"Yes, it is," said I. Navy blue has always been my favourite colour for suits.
"It would be better in black".
"You look like my Grandfather. Blue is for old people. You should have bought a black suit."
Jesus, sweetheart, tell it like it is. Hold no punches. Don't spare my feelings.
Today I'm sat here in jeans, trainers and a black Nike track jacket, looking casually stylish, stylishly casual. It's Friday, after all.
"I suppose that today you think you are 20 years old," said Debbie as she entered the office.
I declined to comment.