In my case, Flanagan’s Precept may even be renamed as Rumpole’s Paradox* which takes the “anything that can go wrong will” theory, throws the bad karma visited by me as a lawyer upon others back in my face and then jumps up and down on my head a few times for good measure.
You may remember that I have two children. This is virtually impossible for me to forget. Particularly at 6.00 am in the morning when the older one is trying to push his elbow through his sister’s sternum to get her to stop yelling. Even the child-free among you will appreciate that this involves a huge amount of noise.
Child noise hits frequencies which could probably change the flight patterns of birds. It is impossible to ignore. It is impossible to think through. It is also quite impossible to doll oneself up during which is why, most mornings, I get to work looking like I lost a fight with a rabid hedgehog.
So the night before our Office Photos (Part 1 Formal/Casual Wear Day) I decided to be super-organised and got all my clothes sorted well in advance. I broke my no-ironing record and pressed my silver grey Marella jacket; pre-stretched my very expensive (ie over $15.00 pair of tights – not shown) so these wouldn’t ladder as soon as I put them on; steamed and brushed my black suede Salvatore Ferragamo stiletto lace up ankle boots which I’d been saving up for a special occasion such as this. All in all, in the disaster foresight department things were going pretty well.
Forget the Rumpole Paradox at your peril. On the day that I spent so much time thinking about and getting dressed, the Minx decided that she was going to go to her daycare centre buck naked. It was quite a cold day. The daycare staff were not going to take a naked child well. So I did what I had to do – carried her clothes in one hand, her two ankles in the other and dressed her upside down screaming and kicking as we walked down the road. I managed to get her dressed by the time we got there but by then she’d shredded my tights beyond decency. Thankfully no-one pointed out that my tights were ripped. Let me tell you there is not a woman out there folks who doesn’t know that her tights are ripped. So don’t tell us.
All the way to Surry Hills I avoided looking at people. By the time I got to the office I was tired, demoralised and desperately in need of coffee and new tights. There were two choices – the boutique across the road that sells $18.00 plus tights or the dollar shop that sells $2.00. Except that the dollar shop only had these:
People, if I live to be one hundred, I will never ever ever EVER wear knee high stocking/sock things. Cute these may be on Sweet and Gothic Lolitas in Harajuku – it just isn’t going to work for me. (Although if it was I’d use this very useful how to Loli-Goth by Avant Gauche).
So the fishnets reluctantly won the day. I already know how some of you feel about fishnets, I had not forgotten. But I thought to myself “How bad can they look” although by this time I was fed up, even more desperately in need of caffeine and completely beyond caring.
The photos didn’t turn out too badly, or so I thought.
You will let me know what you think though, won’t you?
* Actually, Rumpole’s Paradox is a construct of the lovely Flaming Mongrel bless his little gangster shoes.