The Fag Hag is having a wardrobe crisis of Kaplinksy proportions.Now don’t get me wrong, I love this sunny delight weather just as much as the next torso-exposing hot builder in denial about his true sexuality. But, like anal sex or a close-up view of David Van Day, there are certain things in life a girl doesn’t like to be unprepared for – and a seasonal wardrobe shift is one of them.
Summer wear can’t just be donned overnight – ladies need pedis. And a non-Lohan St Tropez. And lipo advertised at the back of Chat mag for our bar mitzvah arms. And a raffia bag with daisy motif. And a gingham wedgie. And bonnets. And a lamb on a ribbon to take through the inner city park.
Then perhaps, and only then, will we be getting ourselves in leering-white-van-man vibe. Even Fern, who races for a primary coloured shift dress and a diamante flip flop from Accessorise come spring, was all trussed up like the Milk Tray man this morning.
So today will be spent rifling through my floral rails for some emergency spring wear, sorting out my parrots claw toes and smearing myself in the brown stuff. And if I can’t be arsed? I’m getting on the phone to my pals at Glamour and Grazia and blackmailing those bitches into rustling up a goth revival.