I arrived in the theatre changing room yesterday evening just as most people were getting changed to go home.
I’d spent the day in the department at an education session so was dressed in my civvies, but was due in theatre to do the evening acute session. As I walked in, someone looked at me and did a double take. “Is that Kirsty?? But you look amazing, like you’ve stepped off the catwalk. A real yummy mummy…or, you know…” she meant, of course, whatever the middle aged version of a yummy mummy was*. “Ah ha!” I said “You just don’t recognize me with my clothes on” This is a standard theatre joke, because we only ever see each other in theatre scrubs, which are like a particularly unflattering pair of pyjamas. By some dark magic, they look awful on everyone, rendering the most attractive person shapeless and asexual.
But actually, I had the last laugh, because I still have absolutely no idea who that woman was who obviously works with me. She was not looking stylish at all, but extremely comfortable, which is a bonus of changing into different clothes for work – you can be in goblin mode for your commute. And, to be fair, when I’m getting to work on my bike or my scooter, I’m more concerned with being conspicuous than looking fabulous.
*My daughter has suggested GILF, with G standing for Grandmother. Cheeky.