Yesterday, I suddenly realised that, for an important meeting in London, I didn’t have a bra to wear.
Or tights.
Give me a break. I’ve been writing my book for the last 18 months, not shlepping to the office. I’ve worn a sports bra since, well … I don’t remember how it feels to leave the house not wearing a sports bra.
Underwire? What is this grief?
And tights? Maniacal cackle.
On examination, every single pair in my drawer had either holes, runs, bobbles or a charming combination of the three.
I haven’t cared, not for months.
But on the eve of The Meeting, I cared.
Sigh. Sometimes, if there is a stressful situation, it feels like everything else will fall into place, if you can just sort out the outfit.
I’m not the only one who feels that way.
A great thinker once said that sartorial streamlining gives one a sense of control in a world full of chaos.
Cher Horowitz.
That’s why, the day before The Meeting, I hauled buns to London where I felt con…
