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Thursday, August 16, 2012

Everything Old Is New Again

After a week of being trapped at home with sick kids, Tracey was in need of some serious retail therapy. So was I, but someone had to look after the kids. I thought we'd rock off but Tracey was out the door with the keys before I'd counted to two.

Three hours after she ducked off for some 'basics' she arrived home with the back seat full of glorious purchases and started handing out goodies like Santa at a work Christmas party.

I expected milk, but Tracey bought the whole cow.

Among the things my wife came home with were three potted plants, window putty, a ceramic fairy and a spatula.

Sadly, there was no milk to be heard of.

"Here!" she said, handing me a huge bag. "I bought you some clothes."

She sure did. There were half a dozen pullover type tops in there, although clearly Tracey hadn't been clothes shopping for me in about 20 kg because everything except for one top was way too small.

This one item which fitted, a sporty red tracksuit type top, reminded me of the sort of thing I was wearing when I was at primary school over twenty five years ago - or over thirty five years ago but what's a decade between friends. My new retro red top started this season on the shelves at $39 but Tracey snapped it up for a miserly $10.

"I can't believe they struggled to sell this," I said to Tracey. I'm always surprised when the sort of designs I grew up with leap out of the opportunity shops and onto the hangers in fashionable stores.

"They had matching pants," Tracey informed me eagerly. Oh please, no.

"Ooooo, sounds nice," I said with no enthusiasm at all. No it didn't sound nice, it sounded like she was trying to get me beat up. This is the sort of outfit I expect the geriatrics are wearing behind the closed doors of the retirement home up the road. "Do they come in parachute silk?"

The real problem with daddy fashion in my house is everything looks great at the shops with a red discount sticker on it. Not that Tracey buys me stuff just cause it has a discount sticker. Oh no. She likes to wait until they're discounting the discounted stuff before she considers how badly something will clash with my existing wardrobe. I like to think she's dressing me down to keep me safe from loose women, but when I suggested this she laughed at me to the point she was gasping for air, so maybe not.

But I insist on looking on the bright side, and excitingly, if this red tacky tracky top from my primary school days is fashionable now, then I foresee in about another five years the things from when I was at high school might become fashionable too.

And by things I of course mean me.

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About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.


His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).


Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.


His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


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