London 15 - 17 March 2024 - Part 11
[b]Getting Ready - Getting There[/b]
Showered. Scented. Robed. My hair quickly blown dry. Make up made up. I stand again before my borrowed wardrobe space.
None the wiser.
Knickers, I can resolve. Beyond that? I am guessing. I am quietly congratulating myself on not bringing more outfits. Then I could have been completely floored.
"Formal or informal?"
Dan. Out of his robe. Into his boxers (no, not Calvin Klein). Flitting from drawer to wardrobe and back to drawer again. As unsure as I am.
"Casual."
"How casual?"
He thinks about that.
"Not too casual."
He laughs.
"I know, I'm not helping."
I can't help but laugh back.
"Okay, don't worry."
Dan back at his wardrobe. Settles an internal argument. Takes out a suit on its hanger. Mid-grey. Light-weight wool. There's a sheen to it. His shirt is striped, white and Virgin Mary blue. It's quite "city". French cuffs but no tie. I'm not sure I approve of this trend. I like a good tie.
Okay, so not jeans, no matter how tailored. And not a frock. Luckily (are these things ever simply luck?), I have brought a suit of my own. Silk velvet. Midnight blue. A rich cream shirt with a self-coloured pin stripe. That will do.
Better to be over-dressed than under.
And so I am.
"That's nice."
"Thank you. You, too."
We say other things. Things that matter to us.
The mirrored wall shows a handsome couple. Father and daughter, would you say? Uncle and niece? There's something about the energy between them.
We are ready. Dan's phone barks. (That will have to go.) Our cab has arrived. We take the lift down to the main lobby.
It is the same car. Same driver. This time, he holds the rear passenger door for me. Dan gets in the other side. Unassisted. He gives the driver the name of the club where we are due to meet his friends.
We accelerate smoothly away from the pavement. Head into the London night.
Showered. Scented. Robed. My hair quickly blown dry. Make up made up. I stand again before my borrowed wardrobe space.
None the wiser.
Knickers, I can resolve. Beyond that? I am guessing. I am quietly congratulating myself on not bringing more outfits. Then I could have been completely floored.
"Formal or informal?"
Dan. Out of his robe. Into his boxers (no, not Calvin Klein). Flitting from drawer to wardrobe and back to drawer again. As unsure as I am.
"Casual."
"How casual?"
He thinks about that.
"Not too casual."
He laughs.
"I know, I'm not helping."
I can't help but laugh back.
"Okay, don't worry."
Dan back at his wardrobe. Settles an internal argument. Takes out a suit on its hanger. Mid-grey. Light-weight wool. There's a sheen to it. His shirt is striped, white and Virgin Mary blue. It's quite "city". French cuffs but no tie. I'm not sure I approve of this trend. I like a good tie.
Okay, so not jeans, no matter how tailored. And not a frock. Luckily (are these things ever simply luck?), I have brought a suit of my own. Silk velvet. Midnight blue. A rich cream shirt with a self-coloured pin stripe. That will do.
Better to be over-dressed than under.
And so I am.
"That's nice."
"Thank you. You, too."
We say other things. Things that matter to us.
The mirrored wall shows a handsome couple. Father and daughter, would you say? Uncle and niece? There's something about the energy between them.
We are ready. Dan's phone barks. (That will have to go.) Our cab has arrived. We take the lift down to the main lobby.
It is the same car. Same driver. This time, he holds the rear passenger door for me. Dan gets in the other side. Unassisted. He gives the driver the name of the club where we are due to meet his friends.
We accelerate smoothly away from the pavement. Head into the London night.
