The Milkman of Human Kindness

On Saturday, I was downcast nigh unto despair. I could see no way out. All was bleak and hopeless. For lo, the outfit that I'd been planning for glitzfrau and biascut's civilisation was Not Working. Horror! Horror!

I had a skirt. It's a lovely skirt - plain, long, made of sea-blue raw silk (and gleaned silk, at that, for extra smug points). I had a pair of shoes - white patent flat Mary-Janes, which are not exactly dressy, but I thought would be just quirky enough (on the Mother-of-Two axis) to work. So I abandoned niallm to the raucous unmercies of our sons and went into town, hunting for Something Fabulous™ to complete the outfit. Constrained by the requirement for breastfeedability, I was still hopeful that the thing could be pulled off. A plainish vest top, I was thinking, and a jacket of purest peacock. More Lady Who Lunches than Rock Chick, but I reckoned I could handle that.

Two vile, sweaty, head-throbby hours later, I retreated home, tail very much between legs. I'd found - indeed, bought - a vest top that I thought might work, but jacket came there none. It appears that peacock is not this season's vibe. In the end, I seized a beaded shruggy object that didn't look terrible with the skirt, brought the vest top back for a refund, and bailed, inwardly wailing and resigning myself to another foray into the abyss.

Cut to this afternoon, as I contemplated said foray with dread. Could I alter something to allow breastfeeding, perhaps? A discreet pair of zips on the seam of an empire-line bodice might work. It was worth a look. So I went to the wardrobe and took out, for a start, my grey silk beaded dress, to which La Glitz herself had alluded when I was bellyaching to her a couple of weeks ago about my outfitlessness (that's terrible etiquette, I know, but she didn't seem to mind...). "Nay, nay, go to," I had said to her, or words to that effect. "That dress hath a halterneck, and verily, it will not party with a nursing bra."

O me of little faith. I should've remembered the uncanny extent to which Glitz is my fashion fairy. (Srsly. We go shopping together, and shops just ... bow to her will and bring forth fabulous garments for me to wear.)

For no sooner had I taken out the dress than the solution sprang fully formed from my head. It was the work of a moment to whip off my T-shirt and wriggle into the dress. The halterneck, as expected, leaves the bra-straps exposed - BUT! BUT! it allows surprisingly easy access for feeding. And with the addition of my new shruggy object [ETA: it calls itself a "cover-u"], the bra-strap visibility is a non-issue. So as long as I remain shrugged, and take care, when untying the halterneck for a feed, not to let the whole front of the dress drop indecorously to my waist, we're good to go. It's all a bit XTREEM BEADZ0RZ OMG ELEVENTY-BEADED, but that's OK.

I mean, let's face it, I'm hardly going to outdress the civilisees.

...and the lunch-break of the Radzer begins to incorporate frantic little dashes through freezing drizzle into Grafton Street emporia.

Two observations from today's foray:

1. Oxfam's cards this year are disappointing in one respect: they all refer explicitly to Christmas. Normally, I get some with "Season's Greetings", because I have several friends to whom it makes a difference. After some dithering, I decided that the principle of buying my cards from Oxfam was more important than the principle of having the option of sending cards with a non-Christian greeting. I can always cross it out.

2. Tripping innocently through HMV, I was abruptly stopped in my tracks. There on a rack of Irish DVDs, bold as brass, was - are you sitting down? - The best of RTE's Wanderly Wagon, vol. 1. Youse (by which I mean those of you to whom this means anything at all) may all already have seen this, but I hadn't, and it Smacked My Gob.

(Amateur-language-nerd aside: When I was small, the kids where I lived all pronounced it "WUNN-derly". I suspect this was a hypercorrection: they were used to hearing British accents on television, and so "wanderly" was heard as a British pronunciation of "wonderly". There's something to say about the socio-economic status of the two countries, and the locus of the cultural norm, and so on, but I'm not going to attempt it here.)

Friends, I am flattened. First (last Tuesday) I got tonsillitis. Then niallm conceded that the nasty cough he had was serious; came home from work; went to the doctor and got diagnosed with a chest infection; started taking antibiotics; proceeded to have really high temperatures for several days; saw no improvement in the cough; injured his back on Saturday afternoon by being racked by a coughing spasm just as he leaned forward to pick something up; passed out (twice) shortly before midnight on Saturday; saw another doctor in the small hours of Sunday; and started taking a second lot of antibiotics, plus steroids, painkillers and sleeping tablets. Which brings us to yesterday, when I was due to go back to work. Only What With One Thing And Another™, my tonsils hadn't cleared up. So I went back to the doctor and got another prescription, and I'm certified sick until the end of the week.

It's not the sickness that's knocked me out, really. It's the fact that Niall actually couldn't leave his bed for several days, and now he can't lift Oisín until further notice, so I've been doing more than usual. But the sickness isn't helping. I hope the drugs work. (Normally, I'm very leery of taking antibiotics, but there comes a time...)

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So! Take my mind off it!

[Poll #588903]