Cape Fear

Yesterday I went shopping with my friend Mrs B Finlay. She is all sorts of wonderful when it comes to shopping. She is savvy, decisive and swift. She is encouraging, with an eye for detail as finely tuned as Whitney Houston’s nose is for crack. And I have never NEVER seen anyone whip out a credit card like she does.

We went to Chatswoog Chase where we battled for space amongst throngs of puffer vests and bugaboos. We waddled (she is 32 weeks pregnant. I think waddle is just how I walk now) past all the fancy ass shops and went into quite a few. Metallicus being one of them where they looked at us like something you would scrape off the bottom of the Silo bin with a stick. Big mistake. HUGE!

We popped into Trenery, which is like Country Road for rounder, older people and both made a purchase. The ladies there were wonderful. Bravo! I bought this…..

Which I am going to return this morning and then go back this afternoon and buy it again because of course it is 25% off today. Fuckers.

Now remember a few years ago when all the stores bought out ponchos and women of girth world over celebrated? I remember I had a camel coloured poncho when Jack was born and I used to whack him up under it, when we were out and about, for a feed. It ended up kind of becoming more like a large, stinky blanket that I would throw over everything (because let’s face it, it does not matter what you were wearing under it, if anything). In the end Mr Woog chucked it in the bin, likening it to a burka. I cried. I am not sure whether it was because I was sad or grateful.

Anyway in shops, in every shop this winter, there are capes. And after initially becoming excited about capes, I am now rejecting the cape.

Why am I rejecting the cape? Because I looked like a total tool for two years in a poncho and there is only one place that a cape should be worn. To fight crime.


Will you wear them or fear them?