It's as muggy as the inside of a slow cooker, my wall clock is almost doing a Dali impression and on an errand just now I wished I could get away with wearing just a pair of Speedos and a smile.
A substantial amount of women out and about, however, who can acceptably walk up the street attired in something wispy, light, airy and wafer thin ... are wearing jeans, ski pants and in one case, I kid you not, dungarees.
How are we malekind ever supposed to understand that?
