I’m lying on the bed, wrapped in a towel, staring at my closet.
But instead of choosing something to wear, or agonising over what to wear, I’m thinking how a few days ago a certain man said:
’Violet, you have more dresses than anyone else I know.’
‘Hah, not true at all,’ I declared.
But secretly I was vaguely amused and delighted.
For no other reason than he notices.
Indeed, the emotionless stone cold sober no nonsense man with a heart made of steel notices what I wear.
Now I’m going to have a cocktail.
Even though I have nothing to wear.