Peach Bellini and olive-oil stained gauchos, white shirt polka dotted with bits of melted chocolate, a sweater sticky with globs of dried egg yolk — I’ve just thrown the lot, yesterday’s brunch outfit, in the washing machine.
It goes without saying – I annoit myself with my food. This is because eating for me is a religious experience, which, if it’s Sunday brunch, is totally and completely logical.
You probably guessed from my laundry list what I ate for brunch: a glass of Prosecco with a splash of yummy peach schnapps; an omelet accompanied by salad drizzled with olive oil, and a chocolate croissant on the side.
Unlike the fab food, the outfit wasn’t great. Could you tell that too?
You’re right, it wasn’t ”clinquant.” Not to be confused with Clicquot, as in Veuve and Champagney, clinquant is French for draped head-to-toe in very obvious designer labels.
Being obviously labeled is not a good look. In that sense, a clinquant outfit is unsubtle to the degree that it verges on tasteless.
Tasteless? That definitely was not my outfit. By the time I took it off, I wasn’t sure whether to toss it the washing machine or in the fridge for a later tasty-morsel snack!
I think I should take to wearing my napkin tucked into my cleavage when I eat out, and one around each arm to protect my elbows, and another around my waist to protect my lap.
In fact, I could start a new trend and bring my own tablecloth with me when I eat out, draping myself with it before eating.
Though if it were a designer-label tablecloth, I’d run the risk of being clinquant – very obviously draped in a label from head-to-toe, which as I said, is not a good look.
Oh my gawd, what is a girl to do?!
Bottom line, readers, I think the only answer is to bog into one’s food with gay abandon and bugger the food spillages.
Just have some stain stick on hand for afters!
