A date with Sarah-Kate
PICTURES: BAUER STUDIO.Kate’s home truths
I
t is withgreatfearand
trepidationthatI am
watchingtheriseofthe
unitard.CelineDion
recentlysportedan
eye-wateringoneinParis,
J.Lois a fanandKim
KardashianWestmayhave
beenbornwearingone.
Thisis badnewsforall
ofusbecause,asyouwill
know,thetrendsyoustartout
sniffilydismissingareoften
theverysameonesthatover
a matteroftimeleachinto
thepublicconsciousnessuntil
you’renotonlynolonger
sniffing,butwearingthem.
Flareswentthisway.More
thanonce.Animalprintstoo.
Andplatforms.
Culottes,backintheday.
HowI laughedatsuch
nonsense.Is it a skirt?Is it
shorts?Nextthingyouknow,
I was saving up for a pair- andtheyseemtohavemade
somethingofa comebacktoo.
Justlikethereturnofthe
maxidresswhichI thought
wasa ridiculousidea,but
nowI havethreeofthem.Oh,
actually,makethattwo.The
onewhosehemI trippedon
andfellhead-firstdowna
flightofstairsI gavetoa taller
friendwhoasfarasI knowis
stillalive.Andupright.
Buttheunitard?I prayto
thegodsofgoodtasteandno
cameltoethatthisparticular
garmentnevermakesit out
intothewiderpublic.
Atleastwitha maxiyou
canhidea multitudeofsins.
They’repracticallycircus
tents,soallyourwildanimals
canstaysafelytuckedaway
outofsight.
Buta unitardleaves
nothingtotheimagination.
Celine might get away with
one,butincaseyouhaven’t
noticed– andI don’tmean
tobodyshame– thewoman
is a stick.
Putsomeonewithevenan
ounceofextrainoneofthose
glorifiedpantyhoseandthat
ounceadvertisesitselflikea
cola-flavouredfizzydrink.
Butif everyoneelsestarts
wearingunitards,thenI am
mortallyafraidthatI willwear
onetoo.AndI’mgoingtoneed
morethana wispofa Chanel
beltatthewaisttohidewhat
liesbeneath.
I’lljusthavetohopethat
Celinehasa weakbladder
andafteronedayofdrinking
healthy smoothiesandcups
oftea,sheplumtuckers
herselfgettingtheunitard
onandofftogototheloo,
soshethrowsthethingaway.
Becauseanyonewho’s
gone down the jumpsuitroadknowsthatanyefficiency
yougainfromhavingtowear
only oneitemofclothinggoes
literallydownthetoiletwhen
youhavetocompletelydisrobe
tospenda penny.
I wasata partywith
twosuchonesie-cladgals
recently,bothofwhomwere
puttingoffgoingtotheWC
becauseit wascold,the
restroominquestionwas
public,anddoingyour
businesswithoutletting
yourjumpsuittouchthe
floorcanbequitethe
acrobaticact.
I, ofcourse,wasina circus
tent.Butmyfearofhaving
it tripmeupandkillme
meantI wasalsowearing
platforms,placingmeat
approximatedragqueen
height.Theweatherupthere
wasnice,but I couldn’t hear
a thing.S a rah-Kate’s wary ofthelatestceleb trend
OH NO, CELINE
W
hatis it about
childrenand
temperatures?
Theyjustdon’t
feelcold.
Ona recentsix-degree
morning,mydaughterand
herfriendskippedouttothe
paddocksbarefoot– onto
frosty,wet-coldgrass.
“Aren’tyoufreezing?”I
calledoutfromthetoasty
warmhouse.
“No,”theychorusedback.
“Pleaseputshoeson!”I
pleaded.“You’llgetfrostbite!”
Butthey’dalreadyskipped
onhappily,probablywithfeet
sonumbtheycouldnolonger
feeltheirtoes.
“Howdotheynotfeelthe
cold?”I askedmyrugged-up
husband.
“Becausethey’retoobusy
focusingonotherthings–theydon’tcare,”hereplied.
“They’llcarewhentheyget
sick,”I retorted.
Theyeventuallycameback
insidenotonlywithoutshoes,
butthey’dalsotakenofftheir
sweatshirts.“Wegothot,”my
daughtersaid.
Sotheydon’tfeelthe
temperaturewhenthey’re
active,butironicallywhenit’s
timeforbed,that’sallthey
feel.“Muuuuuuuum!”my
daughterbellowedfromher
bedroom.“I’mfreezing!”
“Oh,sonowyou’recold?”
I replied.
“Yes,it’sfreezing.I need
anotherblanketora hottie...”
sheaskedpleadingly.“Or
maybesomefluffybedsocks?”
“Whatdidyourlastslave
dieof?”I askedher.
“Disobedience,”shereplied,
quick as a flash. Cheeky.Theotherthingtheyonly
noticewhenit suitsthemare
bugs.Thecreepy-crawlykind.
Mydaughterrecently
refusedtocomefora walk
becauseshewasconvinced
therewasa spiderinher
gumboot.Therewasno
evidenceofanactualspider,
butremnantsofa webmade
heradamanta clusterof
humanflesh-eatingspiders
mustbelivinginthere.
However,anhourlater
whentheneighbourspopped
aroundtoseeif shewanted
tocomeseethehorses,her
gumbootswereonbeforeyou
couldsayCharlotte’sWeb.
It’sthesamewithduck
poo. Anysignofit anywhere
meansshecan’twalk,or
morecrucially,runany
errandsthatinvolverunning
the gauntlet of duck poo–likebringinginfirewood.
“Nope,duckpoo’s
everywhereontheway,”
she’llannounce.“Can’t do
it,sorry.”
Butwhenit comesto
jumpingonthetrampoline
withhermates,theduckpoo
alloverthetrampis somehow
nowinvisible...orseemingly
ignored.
“Isn’talltheduckpoo
ontherebotheringyou?”
myhusbandaskedher
facetiously.
“Nope,”sherepliedbetween
bounces.
“Ohgood– thenyou
won’tmindbringingin
somefirewoodonyourway
back in,”hesaid,pointing
tothepathlitteredwith
whitesplotchesofduckpoo,
“becausethere’s none
there either.”Kate’s girlgetstough whenshe needsto
NOT FEELING IT!
68 Woman’s Day