Frocks and I have a tempestuous relationship.
Flashback to my teens and I was one of the girls-just-want-to-be-boys riding the half pipe, never caught dead in a dress. Gradually throughout my late teens I conceded defeat on Christmas Day and begrudgingly agreed to frock up. This tradition continues. I will still always wear a dress on Christmas Day. Behold last Christmas I wore a dress which I admit I have never worn again. It was purchased from a little boutique in South Melbourne called Teresa Frock Salon. It was an impulse buy to mark my first Christmas Day as a mum. Weird, but maybe, akin to a wedding dress, I’ve never wanted to wear it again. Often though with items of clothing that live in my wardrobe I whip them out a few years later and decide I like them again. So possibly there’s life in this old girl yet.
I’m still not completely confident striding around in a dress, though I am getting used to wearing one to work every few days though prefer skirt and top. All I know is that I’m beginning to realise that jeans and pants are not always a short girl’s best friend and a frock that suits the figure is sometimes a more flattering option when the colours work too. So all hail the month of Frocktober and Claire’s fabulous challenge in aid of Ovarian Cancer which I’ve been learning a lot about thanks to her little tidbits at the end of each post. I certainly could not wear a dress every day of the month but thanks to Claire I convinced my work mate to take some quick cheeky shots in the park between random Melbourne downpours in one otherwise uneventful lunch hour.