Short Skirts And Wet T-Shirts
Perhaps it’s just me but I am beginning to wonder what possesses some people to dress the way they do when they go out at night. Despite the weather turning wintry, cold with the rain turning to sleet, I saw any number of revellers aged from their teens to early twenties dressed in what can only be described as their summer clothes last night.
I wasn’t out partying myself, just in the car running an errand but as I drove through the centre of the local town I saw dozens of party-goers huddled together outside bars and night clubs wearing clothes that would be better suited to a July evening than an early December one.
I think it’s being made worse by it being Christmas party season and the urge to look good in front of your work colleagues at the one time of the year when everyone lets their guard down and those office romances that have been smouldering all year (even if it’s only unrequited lust) can come out to play.
The drizzle that was falling as I drove amongst the inadequately dressed hoards meant they moved in a series of mad dashes between shop-fronts and bus shelters, attempting to avoid an impromptu wet t-shirt contest. The guys were no better, best shirts clinging to their chests and backs.
I suppose I was just the same in my teenage years, but I seem to remember taking a coat with me so I didn’t look like a drowned rat in the nightclub. Speaking of which with all the body heat and wet hair/clothing the clubs must have been like a steam bath.
Emma always does her mother-hen impression when she sees the youngsters with skirts two inches BC and bare midriffs in freezing weather. “Tut, tut. They’ll suffer [all kinds of horrible complaints] when they’re older.” Perhaps they binge on antifreeze.