fashion

We went skiing with our neighbour M. Toupie and his friends from the city yesterday and were invited to join them later chez Toupie for a raclette.

I always feel like the country mouse going to visit the town mice when we go for dinner there. Their friends are always immaculately groomed and wearing fabulous clothes and jewels. Our farmer friend, Mini-B, wears a sweatshirt with the caption "summer, joyfully plush" above a picture of a couple ice-skating (?) and that's considered stylish round here. No-one bothers what you look like, which is very liberating - until I'm in the company of M. Toupie's friends.

I was wearing a pair of jeans with a rip in the knee and when we arrived they all asked if I'd fallen coming up the road - as if it was inconceivable that I would deliberately leave the house dressed like that. I felt so conspicuous that I took my jumper off and put it over my knee only to realise, too late, that I had a piece of dried tomato stuck to the front of my T-shirt. Everyone speaking to me just focused on the tomato. It was so embarrassing.

Ironically, on the way home from Toupies, BB slipped and fell on the ice and ripped his jeans.