Own clothes day – baton down the hatches. We even have to pay a pound for the privilege – I’d rather give a fiver for it not to happen. I never, ever thought I’d say this, but it’s worse than dress as a character for book day and that is bad.
When step daughter moved in and book day came around with its usual wave of trauma, I said to her: at least you don’t dress up on book day at senior school. She looked at me with complete incredulity, oh yes we do, she said, I got a prize last year…aargh, more pressure and the Alice in Wonderland costume I wheel out every year won’t fit a 14 year old.
Back to the here and now and it all started before our alarm clock had even gone off – a commotion over skirts going on in daughter 1’s bedroom. I groaned to partner, before dog 1 kindly sat on my face and blocked out some of the ever increasing noise.
Next come the phone calls: are you wearing your skirt today? Daughter 2 asks FaceTime friend. Are you sure? But I don’t have a coat to wear with it. What shoes are you wearing?
Daughter 2 barges into my room and seems to be able to ignore the fact that I am starkers. Does this skirt look alright, mum? She asks. Yes you look gorgeous, I reply. And then the ultimate put down comes, as she asks her sister for a second opinion.
She comes in again and asks: is it too short? Now I’m worried. I don’t think it is, but if a teenager is showing concern, then perhaps I should be more responsible. I look at my watch, ten minutes until they leave. Just time for five more changes of outfit. I think I’ll take the dogs out early, partner announces and within seconds, he’s gone.
There is a thick frost clearly visible on the ground, yet the debate over whether coats are required continues. Every now and again I put in a: yes, you do need to wear coats, but I am being completely ignored and they carry on regardless. Mum, does this coat look ok? Yes. Good cos it’s the only one I’ve got. No it’s not, you have the one that matches your sister’s. Yes, but I can’t wear that because we’ll match. 2 minutes until they go. I feel a pang of guilt about willing the the time away, but remind myself that they will be back in 9 hours, picking up from where they left off.