No new clothes for a year

no new clothes for a year

It was the latest arrival of a package in the mail that finally did it.

My Dad remarked that the Australia Post contractor who delivered parcels in our area was becoming so familiar with our address, he and Dad would exchange a knowing look with each other as my Dad accepted yet another delivery.

“Another one for Emma?” my Dad would ask.

The contractor would nod wearily as Dad signed for whatever my latest mail-order purchase was.

And, as always, I grabbed the scissors and tore open the parcel to find new clothes. An exciting new thing to wrap around myself, made from a luxurious fabric or in a gorgeous rich colour or with an excellent flattering cut. And then I would need to find somewhere to store it in my increasingly overcrowded, overstuffed wardrobe which was practically bursting at the seams and rapidly running out of spare coat hangers.

On this occasion, there were no spare hangers. Continue reading

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