You'll be pleased to know - as was I, that even though I have [had, HAD!] this bizarre urge to buy beige, I rarely wear it - this was pointed out to me by my crumbliest yet trendiest friend and yes, I do indeed have a cupboard full of the stuff but at least half still has the price tag on even though they’d been gathering dust for several years. Time to fill a charity bag I think; to de-beige my wardrobe.
The comfy cords I only wear to work in, as I don’t mind them turning pink in places [dye that gets everywhere but washes out]. And the other odd bits of beige that does get worn is always to complement a bright colour, usually orange, as this is my new favourite colour [my recently painted bathroom is proof of this].
I thought the beige thing was a bit odd as I’m well known for my bright colours, much to my younger sister’s disgust - she wears a lot of autumn colours and paints everything in varying shades of cream [beige]. Whereas a visit here for her means that she needs to wear dark glasses and it makes her teeth itch.
My new theory on the beige factor is that when we reach a certain age, the ‘mean-gene’ kicks in, telling us to stop being frivolous and to buy clothes that will match anything - ergo - beige.
This is almost - but not quite - a relief, because it still means I’ve reached a ‘certain age’. At least now it means that I can sing out loud to muzak when I’m shopping and not worry about what people think. I remember cringing with embarrassment while out shopping with ladies of a ‘certain age’ - I was in my thirties then - they not only sang but danced too, Oh dear I’m blushing now at the very thought.
Tomorrow is my big day. I think, according to one set of rules that I’m supposed to start acting sensible - well as far as I’m concerned; I covered that with my ‘beige blip’ so now I should be free to carry on in my own doolally way …