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When in Rome… white pants and summertime

Ah, white pants and espadrilles… well, when in Rome… but I wouldn’t dream of it anywhere else. Let’s face it, white pants are unforgiving, or at the least, see through, and espadrilles… well, I wouldn’t even know where to buy a pair outside of Italy.

The gloom and doom of winter has made me crave the sun, and I have guiltily spent more and more time burying my fingers and nose in the flimsy short frocks in my cupboard, dreaming of summer holidays and inhaling deeply.

Rome, Thailand, Queensland or Queanbeyan… anywhere will do if the days are hot and long and I’m living out of a backpack.

The sun makes frivolity non-negotiable. Even when I spend eight hours a day in temperature-controlled rigidity at work, the hours on either side of the 9-5 are glorious, squishy, sweet smelling bundles that must be squeezed of all their goodness.

It’s that same sense of vicarious pleasure that makes us take risks like *ahem* white pants, when in Rome. Chocolate ice-cream can be a viable dinner choice if the tarmac is steaming and dancing until 4am is utterly toe-tingling when you can do it in thongs.

Like butterflies that live for only a few short weeks, in summertime we take fashion risks that would make our unhatched winter larvae selves blush under ugly prickled chrysalis.

The dark, damp days of winter arrest our flight with frosted evenings that always arrive too quick. And so we stay still, grumble timidly in tiny caterpillar voices, and insist on dressing to match the clouds and concrete.

No wonder I am contemplating Queanbeyan, anywhere would be better than this.

In summer, it’s forgivable to wear head to toe mismatched colour, headscarves with massive hoop earrings, clunky wooden platform heels, long swishy dresses, blue eyeliner, musical anklets and *shock-horror* glitter.

Perhaps I am the only glitter aficionado since it was (fairly) outlawed circa 1993, but the question remains, where do all the sparkles go?

I can’t help but think that it might be not only the sweet summer that encourages our sense of fun, but that choosing to dress as if it were sunny might make the grey more bearable.

No mum, I’m not going to start wearing midriff jumpers and miniskirts in the depth of winter (again), but I am contemplating a holiday… I’ve packed my yellow dress and a leopard-print headscarf.

Bring on tomorrow.

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