Oddly enough, I felt quite alright wandering around the house naked after my shower this morning; it wasn’t until a little later, when I was trying to decide what to wear, that I became out of sorts. You see, I was born in Australia (in case you didn’t know already), and have never become totally accustomed to having to cover my arms and legs for colder days. I love to be as free as possible in shorts and summer tops, or floaty dresses that weigh next to nothing, but what is one supposed to do when the Arctic winds arrive?  Wool makes me itch, collars up around my neck feel like chokers, heavy trousers make me feel trussed up like a turkey, and tights… I just hate tights!  These cold, shoulder days between the end of Summer and the beginning of Autumn (which, let’s face it, really is Winter nowadays) are the worst because this is the time to ditch the pretty clothes and start to get used to dark colours, straight-jacket materials, studs and zips. How I dread this time of year, and it’s here already.

I didn’t even bother trying on my shorts this morning, it would have been a futile exercise because I was planning on going for a walk along the seafront and I would have looked funny in shorts and sandals, and a coat and scarf. It’s one thing to look a bit arty, and quite another to appear peculiar (and the dividing line is often rather thin, as somebody once told me).

Speaking of thin, that reminds me… those few pounds I’ve put on recently (for no apparent reason – because I’m always dieting and going to Zumba classes etc…) have made an inexplicable difference as to how I feel in my clothes. In my head I thought I would look fairly snazzy wearing my new vermillion jogger trousers (not elasticated at the bottom so they seem like normal trousers) and a matching red and white striped, long-sleeved top – perfect for a walk in the Winter sunshine and the Arctic wind (I could have added a scarf). Admittedly, my skin was still damp from the shower when I tried on the size ten top, so that it clung to my arms and flattened my breasts somewhat; I’m sure the sleeves would have given a bit and made it over my shoulders properly had I put on some talcum powder but, impatient, and irritated by the constraint, I pulled it off quickly. Even a larger, long-sleeved white top felt funny, and that came off yet more quickly than the first (because is wasn’t stuck to me).

“I look better naked,” I said to myself as I observed my chubby, yet cute, reflection in the mirror (well, if nobody else will say it…). Yes, I know you can’t trust mirrors but the one in our bedroom isn’t even the flattering one – you should try the one upstairs – everybody’s favourite.

Having ransacked all my drawers, I settled upon a white Summer top with little puff sleeves and I felt rather grateful that I had rescued  it a few months ago from the bag of throw outs earmarked for the charity shop. I looked in the mirror again. Not too bad, at least the puffed sleeves were feminine, and I would wear a zip-up sweater over the top when I went outside.

I met Chris waiting for me up by the front door.

“Do I look peculiar?” I asked seeking confirmation (as you do).

“No, of course not, you look sweet with your little sleeves… but I preferred you before,” he said with a cheeky smile.

Luckily men aren’t as critical as we women imagine. Now you know why I think  I look best naked.