The idea that things happen in three doesn't apply to three things in a row. When I suffered a bodily wound (trolley to back of ankle), a wardrobe malfunction (jumpsuit zip) and computer malfunction (power cable blowing) I smugly and was roundly assured 'things happen in threes'.
Yes three of each! Two minor stab wounds (pins and scissors )to hand later and my body has had its three. The computer cable has a three part drama too. Blowing, half an order and a part on its way. With this drama playing out in 3 parts, I have only had my most prolific need to be on email, the internet and all manner of technological issues. I have to borrow access to a laptop and have no picture load capability. Hence wordy post. Shame blogger doesn't have a crayon function.
But it is the wardrobe malfunction element that is the most disturbing. After the jumpsuit moment, I had the graduation gown matter. When you choose the size of the gown you get two options, up to a 52" chest or over a 52" chest. I was actually drowned by gown. If I wasn't of above average height then ridiculous would not cover the visuals. I loved wearing my gown and I was particularly pleased that a Masters gown has sleeves and hand warmer arrangement. This amused me no end. But why oh why can't gowns and therefore the hoods be made to fit women too. I spend all my time pining and repining with really big safety pins and falling down to one side if the gown slipped.
There are photos and I promise I'll share. As a stylist I couldn't resist a few posed shots!
Then wardrobe number 3 happened. There was I on the way home after a splendid graduation lunch at Skylon, sitting on the bus, whilst Mr MDS drove to the Cotswolds for a stag do, happily sated and sat in splendid Moschino dress. It was a hot day and as I stood up I thought the back of my dress feels a bit damp. Then I thought, the damp doesn't feel like tube/bus heat perspiration and looked...to find my dress was sodden on the posterior. How I groaned. It appears I had sat on a wet seat. Now if I were to further inform you that near to my bus stop is the last remaining few blocks of the London & Surrey mental health provision which cares for long term patients; I knew that either someone had spilt a drink or I'd sat in some mad person's wee!