The Image Consultant

A morning sitting around waiting for the mid-afternoon basketball game to commence turned into a moment of complete and utter frustration.

A lack of communication had our entire team at the wrong place at the wrong time; not through any fault of anyone on the team, but from the association itself.

Added to the fun and adventure of it all, the Biggest One wanted to visit local, oversized shopping centre for … I have no idea why.

The Middlest One, he of the Next Birthday, also felt accompanying us would be a great idea so he could appropriately convey just what it is he wants for his birthday.

The seven emails he’s already sent me, complete with links is, apparently, not adequate enough.

I needed a few more clothes for work, so figured I’d just take them. If nothing else, it might stop the unrelenting “so, can we go?!”

My frustration was enhanced when upon approaching the new, high tech car parking areas which have real-time information on how many car parks are available and little lights over each car parking spot so you can see from all the way up the other end just where a free spot is turned out to be seriously malfunctioning.

I drove around and around and uttered things that alluded to my not wanting to be there and this is why.

Eventually, a spot was located, and I advised the kids to wander off and go look at what they wanted to look at whilst I perused the ladies clothing for items suitable for an office.

Surprisingly, the kids got bored and felt it was far more entertaining to follow me around, complaining about being very, very bored.

Despite this, I was a little grateful that Monkey Boy was there as he has always been my fashion consultant. Not only is he honest, he will actually look at what you’re wearing, and he doesn’t have a bad eye at all.

What he has in honesty and good taste, he certainly makes up for in tact.

Shall we say, he is about as subtle as a train smash.

Not just any old minor derailing; but one of those train crashes that takes out bridges, train stations, several hundred people, causes and inferno, and renders the various components of the wreckage, say a house, car, train and hotel, completely inseparable.

“What do you think of this skirt?” I ask. “Do you think I could get away with wearing it?”

“What are you? A twenty year old skank?” he asks.

“What about this jacket?” I enquire.

“What are you? A grandmother?!” he politely suggests.

I grabbed the skirt, despite the level of eye rolling he was partaking in, and my fear that he was going to cause himself some serious ocular damage, but left the jacket.

After they suddenly thought of other places they wanted to see and dragging me around to really boring places, and I dragged my feet and flopped about and said “I’m bored” a lot, with a couple of

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