Monday, 5 September 2011

One Coat To Rule Them All

I bought myself a new jacket a couple of weeks ago. I am aware that the number of coats I already own could probably clothe a significant number of people (not necessarily the clichéd 'small country', just a medium-sized office, possibly including support staff) but I decide to splash out a little. It's a sort of khaki-coloured parka from ASOS, one of my favourite online stores which is - depending on the financial time of the month for me - either a heavenly eden of fashionable yet affordable delights or a hellishly unattainable assortment of beautiful garments which I crave but cannot afford even in my wildest dreams (which incidentally can be pretty wild - I had one recently about a group of elves who kept trying to put me and a friend in prison and then set fire to us, which I'm still not 100% sure is the traditional elvish way of killing people but then my knowledge of folklore is admittedly a little rusty).

The problem with the parka, or at least, what my friends see as the problem (I personally see this as a slightly creepy bonus) is that it is quite large, and long, and if I'm going to be perfectly honest it looks a lot like something a flasher would wear. Once I discovered this, I began to pretend to flash my friends, which they did not seem to appreciate as much as I thought they might. One particular friend was particularly uncomfortable with this, and so of course I zoned in on her and insisted on doing it over and over, to the entertainment of everyone else.

Sarah: (pinching her nose) Could you please stop that?

Me: (more pretend flashing) Stop what? This utterly erotic and seductive behaviour?

Sarah: (recoiling and covering her face) Yes! That! Seriously, no more flashing, for the love of god!

Me: But I'm fully clothed. It's not technically wrong.

Sarah: It's still creepy.

Me: I don't understand. (still doing the flashing motion, but slowly and tenderly, like a lover would) Look, I'm unfurling for you. See? Unfurling. Like a gift. Like a GIFT.

Sarah: Go. Away. If I have to tell you again, I will set you on fire.

It probably didn't help that the Fleetch was helpless with laughter in the background and was therefore to blame for encouraging my behaviour. As you have seen from the banana notes, things are often her fault, even things that happen when she is not there.

Speaking of Fleetch behaviour - on one of the crazy weekends we've had recently, as we were heading into a club, without breaking her stride, she flashed a nearby policewoman. I am still not over this traumatic ordeal.

Me: (springing away in horror and self-preservation) What the bloody hell are you doing?! I don't know what kind of odd cultural greetings you have in America, but that's not legal here!

Fleetch: (unfazed) Oh, it's fine. I know her.

Me: (gobsmacked).... I ..... I ....still don't think you're allowed to do that.

The poor policewoman was in the middle of trying to arrest a drunk girl but had time to grin briefly at the Fleetch and I before the club swallowed us up. I'm still reeling from this particular event, but I'm glad to know that I have enough sense (even when drunk) to step away from someone visually molesting the police. Hey, somebody's got to pay the bail, right?


  1. Haha, brilliant. I too have a parka like coat and clothed flashing is an inevitable event that friends must accept, NAY, embrace.

  2. I like your style! I would dearly love to start some kind of Clothed Flasher's Club, but I suspect this might not be a good move. I'll ask the Fleetch what she thinks. She's probably buying a parka as I write.

  3. I sense a setting-you-on-fire theme here. I'm pretty sure they mention something like that as a side effect in these spam menopause newsletters I keep getting, because turning as old as 34 apparently wasn't traumatic enough. The gist of this is that I'd be careful if I were you, as I suspect menopausal elves are even worse than the typical sort.

  4. Damn, I suspected as much! First the recession, now menopausal elves. I tell you, when I were a lass we had proper elves. And we set things on fire in the right way, so that they stayed on fire. Tch. Kids these days. They don't know they're born (They're actually just massive overgrown foetuses, crawling around and sucking the joy out of everything)
    On a related note, should I be worried that people in my life, fictional or otherwise, keep threatening to set me on fire? :/