In which The Author wraps up warm
I have to confess that the summer (or rather, what passes for summer in Wales) is my least favourite time of year. I know most guys relish the prospect of women in miniskirts, tight shorts and strappy tops, with bare legs and lots of bare flesh on display. Not me. As I’ve already noted in Shagged Out, nearly all my fetishes seem to have been imprinted during the winter months.
The same goes for my own taste in clothes. The winter wardrobe finally emerged again today. I’ve been really glad to say goodbye to my shirts and find my way back into polonecks for the foreseeable future. I bought a lovely red sleeveless poloneck in a charity shop a while ago. That was nice, because it’s suitable all year round. It’s quite chilly, so I’ve teamed it up with burgundy skinny jeans and a grey cowl neck sweaterdress which I’ve had for ages. I’m also wearing a nice knitted hat today, which doesn’t exactly go with the sweaterdress, but it’s close enough for jazz.
It probably won’t be long before my long shapely legs, suitably clad in knitted tights, make a welcome return to the pubs of Aberdare. I wore a skirt to the Prince of Wales about a month ago, and Claire the barmaid didn’t even notice. I’ll be scouring the charity shops for a while, picking up sweaters, gloves, skirts and hats for the new season. Aberdare isn’t exactly Milan or Paris when it comes to fashion, so I’m not especially worried about colours or styles. As long as I feel comfortable, that’s all that matters to me.
Rhian challenged me the other day to wear a skirt to sign on one day. I suppose there’s no reason why I shouldn’t – I’m not working, after all. I’ve worn a skirt into nearly all of the pubs and a fair number of shops in town. I strolled into the library a few weeks ago and nobody there gave me a second look. If the DWP Diversity Policy is truly inclusive, then a Transgender person should be able to rock up to the Jokecentre Jobcentre without any problems.
In the meantime, I’ve seen a lovely purple knitted hat in a charity shop which would match my poloneck perfectly. Helen fancies a hat as well (and, of course, I’d fancy her in a hat). Purple is her favourite colour. I think she’d like it. I wonder if they’ll do me a deal if I bought us one each …
An Autobiography in Random Chapters 