So, it was only a matter of time. This weekend, we had The Talk. The Talk where it was explained to me in clear and vivid detail that I was incapable of dressing myself. No real shocker. As with so many things, I'm a big believer in fulfilling the bare minimum requirements of function rather than worrying about things like "style"or "coordination" or "good taste". So, that means I make sure all the naughty bits are covered before I leave the house and don't really stress on whether the socks match.
But I guess that's the end of that. My only hope is that Jen's hatred of shopping will spare me from any clothing safaris. For now I just have to make sure there's no argo grease on anything I wear when we're out together.