Late last year I bought a suit.
I know … I know …
The fact is, I’d not actually worn anything like that for 30+ years.
Not for my wedding.
Not for my friend’s weddings.
Not even for my parent’s funerals.
But having been invited to a ridiculously fancy dinner by some ridiculously famous people, I thought it was time to take the plunge – aided by the fact I’d lost a lot of weight and wanted to surprise them, as well as myself.
In typical fashion, the dinner ended up being postponed as one of the hosts suffered a tragic loss, so while I don’t regret buying the stupidly expensive threads, I’ve never had a reason to wear them, so they’ve stayed hanging up in my wardrobe waiting for it’s public ‘launch’.
Anyway, while I was in NY, my brilliant son – Otis – was part of a film competition and needed a suit to wear for his character.
Let me tell you nothing – ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING – reminds you how quick kids grow up than seeing your son in a suit.
Not just in any suit, but YOUR suit.
And he’s only 11 … though, I have to admit I do think it’s pretty cool, even if I’ll forever be the second person to wear my own bloody suit.