Sunday, February 01, 2004
crossing Royal Parade on Friday: two women, one about 20 and a student, I guess, another around 50. the same height, the same face, and even though the girl would probably deny it, the same mannerisms down to the way they swung their arms and the way she put her hand to her face waiting at the lights. a vision of a line of reflections down the years, each a little older than the other, generations of women looking the same. at the market later: a man with a fairly protuberant nose and his four daughters, all with the same nose no matter how differently from each other they chose to dress. still too early to see how A. looks like me and/or like dh.
sorting out my clothes in the attic (desperate to try to find things to wear that are a) bf-compatible (so many lovely, long, useless dresses!) and b) not tracksuit pants and T-shirts, I put aside a suitcase for "interesting but unwearable clothes". if I was honest with myself I'd call this pile of stained silks and torn evening dresses a "dressup box" for the daughter I may still have one day (though I expect not, really and truly)
there's another suitcase. it's completely full. it's labelled "jeans which will fit me again one day".
sorting out my clothes in the attic (desperate to try to find things to wear that are a) bf-compatible (so many lovely, long, useless dresses!) and b) not tracksuit pants and T-shirts, I put aside a suitcase for "interesting but unwearable clothes". if I was honest with myself I'd call this pile of stained silks and torn evening dresses a "dressup box" for the daughter I may still have one day (though I expect not, really and truly)
there's another suitcase. it's completely full. it's labelled "jeans which will fit me again one day".
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