It has been one of the biggest tends to hit the UK, nay, the world in years. Celebrities have posed in them, children refuse to take them off and as the colder nights draw in, there doesn’t seem to be anything else that quite makes the cut.
I’m talking about the onesie.
Onesie mania swept the nation a couple of years ago. It seemed everyone had one. Everyone except me. I wanted one, but could not bring myself to get one. I knew I would not being able to pull it off like my little bears do.
Mr C did buy me a giraffe-onesie for Christmas last year and made the fatal error of buying it in my actual clothes size rather than following the essential 2-sizes-bigger rule. Having a onesie riding up your bum is worse than have tights that keep slipping down. I do need not need that kind of torment in my life. The biggest bear now snuggles up in it.
The onesie-up-the-bum situation put me off and I still have flashbacks of myself in the mirror looking like a cross between a giraffe and Tinky Winky. Then the seasons changed, onesies disappeared from the shelves and this obscure piece of clothing slipped from my mind.
As Autumn approached I resolved to face my demons and finally jump on the bandwagon. It was time to have a onesie in my life.
Yesterday we drove through Harrogate on the way to see family in Leeds so we stopped off at Primark. Living in the middle of the countryside, cows and sheep are a’plenty but highstreet clothes shops are not. Sometimes you’ve just got to seize the opportunity.
I wasn’t too sure when I tried it on in the shop. Yes I tried it on. I wasn’t going to risk the onesie-up-the-bum scenario again. Standing in the changing room with my biggest bear watching me, my prediction was confirmed. In all onesies I can absolutely pass for a teletubby. My biggest bear smiled kindly and said I looked cute. I know what she was thinking. less sophisticated cute, more squishy-round-teddy-bear cute. I hesitated but as quickly as it was lost, I rediscovered my resolve and assertively placed it on the ‘keep’ pile.
So now I am the owner of a fleecy onesie. Better late than never, right?
I had a wobble lastnight as I took it out of the bag. Would I horrify my husband of 6 months into opting for the sofa instead of sharing the bed with an overgrown baby covered in fur? Would I be able to look myself in the eye when I caught myself in the mirror? And more importantly, what if I needed a wee in the night? Why don’t they make them with flaps?!
Mr C encouraged me to put it on. I think he just fancied a laugh to be honest. Not that he’d admit it. Go on love he said. You’ll look lovely he said.
So I did.
He smiled kindly. And said I looked cute. Oh dear.
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