I should not be allowed near nice clothes. Not unless there's a window in between, anyway.

Of late, thanks to the kind offices of hometime, I've been wearing a nice cheerful outfit that really suits me. You know how every so often a piece of clothing comes into your life and you put it on and suddenly wonder how you ever managed without it? You don't even need to be a clotheshorse to have that feeling - I most certainly am not. In fact, I think it's those of us who aren't clotheshorses who probably get that feeling the most, because we have so little clothing to choose from and we're so crap at shopping. When we find something we like, we wear it until it falls apart.

Anyway. You know that feeling? I had it with this skirt, top and lace cardy arrangement. The skirt's a rich chocolate corduroy (much nicer than it sounds) and flared and flouncy, and I like flared and flouncy. I also like mid-length skirts, there've been deemed frumpy for way too long (and thus unavailable). Brown is a big change for me because I came of age in the late 80s when anything that wasn't black was unforgivable, but I think I can cope at last. Mostly I wear it with a pink tank top and a nice lacey cardy thing over that, the sort you knot at the front. The cardy is black but a dull black, so it actually matches the top and the skirt. The overall effect is good and once I put the three things together it suddenly became The Way I Dress.

Right. First up, a couple of weeks ago I shrunk the lacey top. It's gone from giving a not entirely necessary but pleasantly bosomy touch to giving the effect of skank or maybe just an overloaded string bag full of overripe oranges hanging on a hook at the greengrocers and ready to drop its load the next time it gets bumped against the pumpkins. I've rewet it and stretched it once, but it's going to take considerably more, I fear, to get it back to normal and the seams are starting to rip already.

And now? Now it seems at some point something bleachy has splattered the back of the skirt. Not much, just a few dots but they stick out like a dog's dick in a rice custard.

I was going to wear it today, so once I realised it was bleached, I've been seeing what I can do with felt tip pens.

As it happens, not much. It just goes from an obvious bleach splatter to looking like I sat on something dark and greasy.

I probably shouldn't have started the experiments with a blue felt pen, and the orange flouro layer was a clear sign of my rising sense of helplessness and the point at which I should have stopped.

I find myself staring at it as though if I stare at it long enough, the problem will go away.

I never thought I'd find myself wishing I owned a brown texta.

It's a sign of my maturity that I'm not going to assume that by the time people notice I will have said goodbye and be on my way, therefore it doesn't matter and I can wear it. Or that they'll just think I sat in something greasy and don't we all do that occasionally so who cares?

I guess I've come a long way in the last couple of years. Or something.

Addit.: And just this once, I'm prepared to accept advice, so if anyone has any bright ideas on how to fix the skirt or the top, please tell me. I promise I won't bite. Unless of course, you suggest I bleach the rest of the skirt to match (go me for pre-empting the peanut gallery, ha!).