The Opposite of Camel Toe.

Yesterday featured another lesson in which I must learn to listen to my instincts and not be such a slovenly cow.


Monday mornings are never great. And pissing down, freezing Monday mornings are the worst. It was cold. You know the type of cold that you just cannot face and it pushes you back under the doona until the very very latest minute that you can get up and out the door without having to take the kids to the office for a late slip?

It was like that. It was so cold, I had gotten up in the night and fished around on the floor for a pair of tracksuit pants, which turned out to be Mr Woog’s ancient grey ones with a small hole in the crotch. Eventually the time came that if I did not get out of bed, the kids were never going to go to school. I got up, made cereal, toast, lunches, got uniforms on them, watched them brush their teeth and searched for the missing school shoe. The fucking missing school shoe. Oh shoe, why do you go missing every morning?

I, myself, managed to put a bra on, a singlet on, a long sleeved navy t-shirt on, a beanie on, a foul red cardi on and the piece de resistance, a scuffed pair on white tennis shoes over my bed socks. Hot. Deodorant? No. Hairbrush? Forgetaboutit.
Pissing with rain. PISSING. Thunder, lightening, the whole deal.
My plan was to drop the kids off to school via the cafe, come home and do some housework while listening to talk back radio and getting enraged by shock jocks bashing Cate Blanchett. I pulled up to the cafe and dispatched Harry with $3.50. Got Coffee. Drove kids to school. Dropped them off. The phone rang.
It was my buddy The Divine Ms M who was issuing me with an invitation to come and sit on her couch while she talked at me. There would be more coffee and a blanket involved.

I told her I was not really dressed for public consumption and she snorted and said she did not care. So then I did not care. I went and sat the shit out of that couch. For several hours. My own mother actually turned up at one point and did some couch sitting. She did ask me what I was wearing. I said I had not planned to see anyone that day and isn’t it a good lesson to learn that you should not wear track suit pants out of the house. Unless you are into exercise. Which I would love to say I am. But I am just not.

I recalled the time where I was 20, standing in the line at the St George Bank on a Saturday morning. Remember I was 20. And single. And Saturday mornings were always spent with a massive hangover watching Rage. But I obviously had to go to the bank.

So there I was standing, absentmindedly eating a banana paddle pop in my pyjamas with a hoodie over the top when my heart stopping crush walked in and stood behind me in the line. I died. I seriously wanted to die. It was 17 years ago and it seems like yesterday. The conversation was polite. And no, he did not ask me out. EVER. And I wonder why?
So after a few hours of couch sitting, I wandered off as I was running late to Skype with a dude about a situation. And when you are skyping, as long as you do not have chocolate smeared all over your face… then you are fine. I pulled my hair back into a pony tail, had my glasses on and some lippie. I think it was ok. Just maybe.
Then the Skype session ran late and I had to give my apologies and leave as I had to pick up Woogettes and I had wasted too much time in the morning playing Shoot Shag or Marry with the Divine Ms M on her couch.

Racing to school in the rain, and the penny dropped. The kids were going to After School Care. I could leisurely make my way to school and not have to put up with the total shit fight that occurs at the end of school day in the car park. I thought I would grab some stuff for dinner. I walked into the store and ran straight into an old school friend. I apologised a thousand times for my appearance. I mean I looked like a bag lady. It was mortifying.
In the car park, a car pulled up next to me and asked me if I was leaving. I turned around to say yes and it was my old boss. Delightful. Lovely little chit chat small talk. Fuck.
I cursed myself for not getting out of those pants while I had the chance. I drove to school. After school care is held in the hall and apart from the carers, I had little chance of running into anyone I knew. You think. One of the carers told me that the Principal would like a quick word with me if I had a minute.

I did not go to the Principals office dressed in my tracksuit pants, bed socks and dunlop volly’s. I grabbed the kids and ran to the car. No. I did not have a minute.

Today I am basically wearing formal wear.

Even when you are trying to be trendy, tracksuit pants still look bad. What is the opposite of camel toe?

Have you ever had a fashion shocker with no one to blame but yourself?