I spent £30 in M&S today. What on? Not packets of pomegranate seeds. Not ready-washed rocket. Not several packets of their extortionate steaks. No. Tights. Yes, tights, I said.
No one ever told me how expensive it is to do the bare minimum necessary to keep up the appearance of being a woman. I mean I could go for the obvious moan about tampons but i don't want to encourage all those men out there to think they've got a clever answer ('what about razor blades huh?' - well honey if you think women don't need razor blades too, think again). Frankly it annoys me to have to spend so much on tights. Especially as I appear to have a peculiar ability to make a hole in mine within a day of wearing them (what IS wrong with the heel of my right foot??)
Actually more generally, while I'm on this theme, I hate feet, especially mine, but also in general. The best play I ever saw was a Knee High production of The Red Shoes. It's all about a girl who buys some shoes with her grandmother's hard-earned money, and when she puts them on she finds she can't stop dancing - and that she can't take them off. Eventually (look away now if you don't want to know the gruesome end) she persuades a carpenter to chop her feet, and shoes, off. I almost envied her. A life without feet sounds like a good one to me. Except that if you chop your feet off - and this really troubles me - would the stumps of your legs start to resemble horrible feet? Perhaps there is no escape. Perhaps I should think less hard about this.
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