What I never realised about anyone with a broken leg is how severely it restricts their wardrobe choices.
Poor old Boofuls couldn’t get his lovely jeans over his stonking great white cast or even over his much lighter and smaller frog green one. After seeing him in pyjamas for four days in hospital and then in a borrowed pair of The Rev’s zip up tracksuit bottoms for another few days I decided it was time to go shopping. I mean, you can only wear the same pair of trousers for so long before they start to become, er, fragrant.
Not only that, and you probably already realised, but I didn’t, that a person with restricted movement get terribly cold. We had ‘thermostat wars’. Every time Boofuls went past it in his wheelchair he turned it up and every time I went past it I turned it down. Words were exchanged on several occasions as I’d stand there red faced and with with beads of sweat on my forehead, itching with the heat while Boofuls lay on the settee covered with blanket and complained of being freezing.
Armed with all the relevant information I hit the aisles of Matalan. Theses keks need to have an elasticated waist, be roomy in the leg and also nice and warm. I headed straight for the ‘ soon to be starring on the Jeremy Kyle show’ section.
Here we go! Nice big, elasticated waist, fleecy, saggy arsed tracksuit bottoms in shades of black or grey. Since Boofuls’ nice shirts and jumpers wouldn’t look at all right with these I also invested in a couple of long sleeved tops and a tracksuit top in a nice chav grey. The perfect dole dosser ensemble.
It’s fair to say we’ve had our money’s worth out of them and they did the job beautifully but a picture of sartorial elegance he was not. His one fluffy sock to cover his poor cold tootsies and one slippered foot, tee shirts and saggy bottomed trackies with the amazing ability to pick up every hair dropped air from Douggie the doggie, and that’s a lot of hair, is a very difficult look to do well. I think it was probably all the static electricity from the man made fibres that attracted all the hair.
You’ll be glad to know that now his cast is off he’s able to put on his sexy, bum hugging jeans again and is looking much more like the man I married, albeit quite a bit more rolling in the gait. I’m sure another few weeks will sort that out though.
So, here we are at another Valentine’s Day. The postman struggled down the path with a giant sack of cards to push through the letterbox – just not my letterbox. Sigh. I seem to have lost my allure.
It’s been many a year since a Valentine’s Card came my way much less a giant bunch of red roses. Mind you, thirty years of marriage says,’ I love you’ better than a bunch of overpriced flowers ever could.
I was in Lidl yesterday and the number of embarrassed looking men who walked out clutching bouquets of red roses, holding them as if they were trying to pretend they weren’t there, was really touching and funny at the same time.
There’ll be some happy women around Littletown today.
Romance isn’t dead after all. Aaaaaw.