Ooh, Matron!

It's been very hot in the UK these past few weeks: so hot I've taken to wearing summer dresses. Yes, summer dresses. Not jeans, skirts, cut offs or leggings, but proper, bonefide, summer dresses. The DH thinks I look cool in them, and my youngest thinks I look nice, so I've stuck with it. This is my summer look. I call it the "Summer Dress Look." Gok Wan, I ain't.

I was wearing one of the aforementioned summer dresses the other day when I took the youngest to her friend's birthday party: to the Tamworth Snow Dome, to sledge, in July. Now, I'd wrapped the youngest up as for winter, complete with hat, scarf and gloves, but like an idiot I was dressed for a July heatwave. I should know better, all of my books say that a true lady dresses appropriately for any occasion, and the inappropriateness of my attire began to be screamingly obvious when we got to the sledging area and all of the other mums pulled out fleeces and woollie hats. I was left freezing in my summer dress.

A school-gate friend of mine sidled up to me and asked, "aren't you freezing in that dress?"

"Yes," I replied, "I'm a complete idiot for wearing it."

"I'm very worried about that magnificent cleavage of yours. What will happen if your bosom get frostbite?" Asked the friend, in a playful, and somewhat impertinent manner.

"I don't know, but perhaps the illegal immigrants I'm hiding in there will move out."

"I know! " she exclaimed, " when you can get out of here you can rub them up and down on the DH - that'll defrost 'em!" She snuck off, leaving me to think of a witty retort. Which I did, several hours later.

You see my bosom is laughing stock. A great, big, magnificent, laughing stock. Friends, colleagues, family (my dad says that I can't take up golf because of my "nellies"), men who drive white vans. I'm a walking MacGill saucy post card. In the old days a woman got to a certain age and her bosom was allowed to go all matronly with dignity and poise - can you imagine a white van man asking the good lady in the photo* above if he could "towel her down" on a rainy day? No! He would have let her be and given her the respect befitting her maturity and enormous bosom.

You see, in my mind's eye the Domum Two aren't really that big. Big yes, but not thaaat biiig. Also, in my mind's eye I'm not that fat. Fat yes, but not thaaat faaat. I have a positive self image. On good days, wearing my summer dress, I think I look like a chubby Catherine Zeta Jones. My positive self image can be positively self delusional on good days. However, in reality I look like Pam Ferris as Ma Larkin. Actually, I look like Pam Ferris as Ma Larkin on good days. On bad days I look like my old music teacher. I know I look like Ma Larkin because my youngest child has told me so - and six year old children never lie about appearance, they lack the ability to sugar coat encroaching matronliness. The question is do I diet (oh, please God, not that!), should I wear a minimizer bra ("oh, please God not that!" shouts the DH) or should I just go with the flow and embrace the matron that is Dulce Domum? And, seeing as going with the flow is an essential part of my nature I've decided to embrace the matron, she's coming towards me now, bosoms decorously covered by a flowery apron, she's bearing a platter full of scones - lovely jubbly, as the DH doesn't say.

* I took this picture from Yesterknits, a wonderful site for lovers of vintage knitwear!