I like to whinge about the weather. ALL Melburnians like to whinge about the weather. It’s just something we do. The more we whinge about the weather, the less we get taxed.** And you know that flowery “four seasons in a day” sing-song splattered on tourists’ information leaflets and websites? It’s actually just a pathetic attempt to romanticise the fact that Melbourne weather does NOT know what it’s doing. I wish it could just make up its mind and stay warm all year long. Or if it feels like being nasty and decides to be cold all the time, at least let me know so I can pack my bags, get myself a coconut bra, and head off to live in Fiji.
But oh no, not with this wicked thing. It lures us with a few gorgeous sunny days only to dunk us in weeks of miserable fog & chill, and occasionally thwacks us across the chin with snow in mid summer or killer storms during a perfectly nice week. Just to have a bit of excitement, you know. Because changing itself every 15 flippin’ minutes can still get sooo boooring! So you see, I should be excused for being such a whiny wimp full of weather whinge in woeful winter, shouldn’t I?
Anyhow, so on the weekend I decided to be brave & face up to one of the biggest weather-related challenges of all: the half-yearly re-organisation of my wardrobe. Why? Because I’m not Mariah Carey and my humble abode is probably less than half the size of her underwear walk-in wardrobe, that’s why. So out of those storage boxes came the thick, chunky, intimidating winter clothes, & in went the soft, airy, inviting summer garments. Bye bye clothes. *sniffle*
As you can guess, I have no problem when September comes and the process is reversed. I couldn’t chuck those depressing winter clothes back into the garage fast enough. But the April re-organising session IS A BATTLE, and I keep putting it off until my butt practically screamed at me in agony, “If you’re not getting out those jeans & sweaters RIGHT THIS MOMENT, if you keep on (barely) covering us with those flimsy flowy frocks, we’re gonna just freeze right now and fall right off your backside, and you’ll have no arse to sit on FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!” Only then did I finally see that they had a point, and resentfully dragged myself out on that dreaded trip to the garage.
I should be given some credit though. I’m trying to like winter clothes. By imagining myself walking the streets of Shanghai or New York mid winter once again, all bundled up in thick coats & knee-high boots, long scarves & bakerboy caps, smelling of Cashmere Mist or Alessandro Dell’ Acqua, and feeling oh so chic. But I can’t, “thanks” to my severe lack of Vitamin Chic. I just look like a tramp, tousled hair all over my face and icicles of snot dangling from my nose. Or someone who’s lived in an oven all her life and was only recently thrusted into The Real World. A British lady I know, who lived in London most her life and, wouldn’t you guess?, loves the miserable weather they have there, once snapped at me, after hearing a hundred times too many of my winter wardrobe whinges, “What’s so good about summer dresses? All fickle flesh-flashing fluff?”. “EXACTLY!”, I yelled, “that’s the whole point of fashion, isn’t it? The flashing of flesh & the fickleness of fluff!”
Bring back summer, aarrgh!
** If you believed that, maybe it’s time to enrol yourself back in kinder again. 😉