Cheers

Toast has a new catalogue out.
Toast is one of those catalogues which tricks you.
It uses the most evocative photos to make things look like they are absolutely necessary.
I can gaze at its photos and imagine what my life would be like if I did actually have time to sit and look pensive and sexy all at the same time. In my pjs.
I’m of course never going to buy anything from it – apart from my phobias about ordering things online from overseas it is a UK company and therefore something that costs 30 pounds is like 500 bucks so all I do is gaze, mutter, murmur and imagine.

There are some things that could quite easily slot into my standard uniform.
This is even called the Easy Pullover. This is the kind of item that I could essentially live in. Each and every single day.
It has a v-neck and is green. The end.Cute, good size, nice colour, like the stitching.
This top? Over jeans? = me
These jeans? Because what I have in boobs and belly I lack in arse and hips = perfect.
I would love to wear this kind of thing
but as mentioned above, the boobs and the lack of a waist means I’d just look dumpy.

I saw these and immediately thought of Blackbird and Suse (who is on some blogging hiatus…)
You see, you put that top on me, or I attempt to wear anything described as ‘find, soft and gauzy’ as that long knit is and all you get is fat, lumpy and ugly. I have great legs but you’re never going to find me wearing opaque footless tights. Ever.
I’m just saying.

I always have much grief finding shirts or indeed ‘blouses’ to fit me – for starters there are the mammaries. Then there is the broad shoulders and back. Apparently I would have made an excellent long distance swimmer or runner. If the boobs hadn’t showed up sometime between 1983 and ’86.

On top of that, I have issues about my upper arms. I’ve had bingo wings since I was about 11. Oh you think I’m kidding but I remember tennis camp in the summer holidays of 1983-84 and being distinctly self conscious about my upper arms.
I know.
It’s a miracle I made it to adulthood.
So there are tops that are permanently out-of-bounds.
That orange band would disappear under my boobs faster than McDonalds goes down a three year old’s gullet. And just the thought of my arms on display in a shirt like this makes me all hot.

These shirts are so ‘now’ that there are way too many women wearing them who should know better. That sleeve? The gathering? The colour? Shudder.Shudder.Shudder.
The very term ‘cap sleeve’ spirals me into an anxiety attack on par with the idea of having to complete role plays at some professional development workshop at work. Oh sure, I’m an attention whore, it just has to be on my terms. This shirt is what you could put me in if there was some sort of ritual humiliation right-of-blogging-passage that had to take place. Seriously, don’t bother dumping my whole being into a bin or shoving me headfirst into a toilet, just make me wear this cap sleeved top with a belted tie and I will die a thousand deaths. Funny, because I work with someone who would wear this sort of top and totally pull it off. She has this whole retro, post WWI ‘look’ and she just works it. Effortlessly. I thought of her when I saw this dress
and this jacketwhich if I attempted to wear would make people spontaneously burst into laughter or ask whose fancy dress party I was going to.

About the only sleeveless item I can contemplate is a waistcoat.
I love that look for a woman. I need to be thinner to pull it off, but the idea of a work shirt, sleeves slightly rolled, open enough at the neck to show a bit of cleavage and waistcoat really do it for me. Take note of those shoes, I’m coming to them.

Speaking of dresses as I did briefly up there, before, I don’t wear them. Some shop assistant once told me that because of my body shape I should always wear a top and pants or skirt. I think I was about 14 so I was kind of impressionable and have therefore always bypassed dresses. Which you know, when I see what is on offer, don’t think is such a bad thing
My Nan used to wear something like that and I used to refer to any dress like is as an ‘Osti Number’ in homage to the brand that produced them in as many polyester floral prints as your mind can imagine.

I know who’d wear this one
Scrapbookers. That’s who.

For some reason this reminds me of some horror film involving exorcisms. But look, Toast manages to make it sexy

This dress is called the lazy day dressand you know what, while I dream of being able to carry such a look off, like this
I could never arch my eyebrows so purposefully or wear that many bangles without my neck permanently itching. Besides, I have come to accept that a lazy day dress would simply make me look lazy in that ‘gee, hasn’t she let herself go’ kinda way.

It strikes me that this has the stripes going in all manner of unflattering directions
and look,
even with mood lighting, a sexy face and a rope it still makes you look broad-beamed.

I don’t wear pyjamas. I find it all too restrictive. And I get too hot. But if I did they’d be something like this
My hair actually looks a little like that in the mornings although I can not vouch the legs would be that unhairy. I also doubt I’d be frying eggs outdoors with some throw around my shoulders but when an item is called glimmer dobby pyjamas and described as such

… very soft and light jacquard-weave cotton fabric with fine lines of silver glitter woven through it …

what is not to love.

I also like the concept of these are they are simply called plain organic cotton pyjamas and if I were a pair of pyjamas I believe that is how I would be described.
The pensive gaze is extra.

This however is just uncalled for
I’m just not sure you ever need to look like a Sith Lord, particularly when you’re watering the garden.
Might be fun if you need to creep out the neighbours though.

I tend to make disparaging remarks about the type of women who run the school p&c – that they wear beachcomber or Jesus sandals, khaki shorts, oversized t-shirts and ugly hats. And windsheeters. I never got the windsheeter. Perhaps its because our climate doesn’t really suit it or perhaps it is just a traumatic memory association to when I did own one as a child and found that all I did inside of it was condensate. And how that was just not enjoyable.

But I quite fancy this. That it’d be handy on those days when it can’t decide if it’s raining or not and I’m ferrying the hundreds of children we have to the eleventy gagillion afterschool and beforeschool activities they engage it.
I know I like it just because it’s green.

This, however, is just too much of a commitment, although I love an off-centre button arrangement.
Moving on.
Still with me?
Newsflash people, there are four words that should never be heard together
High
Waisted
Bikini
Pants
One.
Tell me one person these would look good on.
Just one.

Now, because I have no issue with my arse or my thighs, I want one of these but with the skirt around the arms
I’m still baffled as to why anyone needs a cossie in the UK anyway.

I want some of these
and these
and these
and these
just so I can randomly throw myself up onto my tippy toes in some grotesque ballet pose.

But you know? Even Toast makes ugly shoes
It really doesn’t matter who sells them, a desert boot is a desert boot.
And therefore needs to be left in 1985.

What is it with these ughglee sandals at the moment. There is nothing flattering about any of these. Nothing.
even if its in this seasons it colour
et tu Brutus?
Yes Caesar. And I’m so sorry we didn’t bury all of these at the base of Mt Vesuvius.
Before it exploded.