Short and sweet

I have taken to sailing into the cataloguing department at Reading University Library wearing hair-ribbons in various colours and fabrics – with joy.  I have a little wardrobe of delicate delights. I have also worn some earrings resembling chandeliers that would put those in the Versailles dining rooms to shame and be the envy of Madonna herself –they are a little OTT for the cataloguing department but they will be there again!

Sadly, the ‘shorts’ did not make it and in my heart I can understand why; they are a little brief and I am 61 years and should not perhaps have such aspirations – thinking that I might turn-back time or even stop the clock.

I was prepared to compromise – not to show too much flesh by wearing some leggings as well.  I even gave it a try and through my Kate Moss eyes I was more than OK.  But then, through the eyes of a ‘librarian’ it would not do! Thighs at the information desk might be little too much before lunch!

As a child, as spring wore I remember the anticipation of the summer ensemble of shorts, ‘T’  shirt and sand shoes.  Hair ribbon no longer required; hair was cut short or tied back in a pony tail.  I was one of three sisters and so until my brother came along we had no concept of boys and girls; the summer was spent playing cricket with a broken oar, rowing, sailing and playing in the creeks and rivers … shorts were so right.

As a teenager in the late 60s shorts made a quick come back in the shape of ‘hot pants’ – I had a rather beautiful pair in purple suede but after a season the shorts died.

As a mum I behaved like a mum; doing the right thing, setting a good example; not rocking any boats.  Shorts might have made an appearance carefully described as a divided skirt, culottes or Bermuda shorts but they were never short.

It seems this coming -of – age manifests in many ways – I no longer have reason to conform; I can make the rules. If I want a pair of shorts, then why not?

So this summer I took a leap and bought a pair of ‘cut offs’ from the Allsaints sale. Yes, my father’s pocket handkerchief would probably be bigger and maybe I will catch ‘my death’ but OMG did they look fab. While I was Spain me and my shorts never parted.  So whenI removed  myself from my denim delights for the last time … I hoped another fashion quirk would catch my eye and so I could prepare myself for another shopping spree.   As it happens I have seen a rather sweet blue and white polka dot rain mac. Off we go!

Shorts now in Brazil