Monday -I have been notified today, that’s the day of the meeting with work, HR, with my union rep in attendance to discuss risk assessment and my phased return.
So, when the going gets tough (er), as I am slightly stressed about this, I resorted back to my default female setting and went shopping for work clothes. I’d love to show you that I bought shapely size 12, slinky faaabulous daarling type outfits, but, to be frank, I’d be telling lies so big that Pinnochio’s nose would hit the stratosphere.
Instead, I hit the fat lady’s saviour – Evans. In my defence, I would have gone to New Look but there’s not one in the small backwater where I live and Dotty P’s, although doing my size, never seem to fit quite right.
I ogled the lovely, high stiletto type shoes with lust and, with a wistful sigh, eschewed them and turned instead to the uglier type shoes, the ones that are “sensible”, they might even be labelled as /shudder “brogues.” They aren’t dissimilar to the Startrite shoes my mum used to buy me when I was younger. These were the best of a bad bunch and are supremely comfortable for those who’s width spreads to their feet as well as their girth:
I also bought two pairs of non descript black trousers, the kind which form the backbone of a working woman’s wardrobe and a longer top to cover my arse. It looks pretty dull on the website but looks good on, I mean being a French teacher, I only need to add a baguette, a beret and a string of onions to my bicycle with a wicker basket on the front and I’m all set to fulfil every French sterotype that the children might have.
Spurred on by my relative success, I asked to be measured for a bra, only to have to be picked up off the floor…I am a 48F. I officially have huge boobs 😦 No wonder I’ve been putting off being measured. None of those cute, sexy little underwired things for me, oh no, try over the shoulder boulder holders. In fact, just throw me an empty potato sack and I’ll make do, I’m sure that hessian is in this season. Mr RR even went as far to suggest that, should we ever have children, we wouldn’t need to buy bras, we could just use bowling ball bags and add straps. Sometimes I’m tempted to trip him over and beat him with my walking stick until he yields.