Dress-ups

My baby girl turns three on Saturday. Three years ago I was 42 weeks pregnant and up a ladder cleaning the bathroom ceiling. After the acupuncture, pavement pounding, telephone book squatting, visualisations, spicy Pakistani curry and marital 'exercise', I believe it was the cleaning of the ceiling that finally brought on labour.

But I digress...

This week's task neatly coincided with my plans to furnish the three-year-old with the makings of her own dress-up box, so I took a trip to Vinnies. Is that vintage? Probably not really. Second-hand, yes. Faded and worn, mostly. I knew a lot of people growing up who were excellent op-shoppers. I tried to be for a while. I'd scan the racks, buy a pair of baggy men's suit pants or a quirky jacket, but they never wore well on me. I couldn't really pull it off. The best purchase was from a huge second-hand clothing shop in Berlin where I picked up a pair of dark orange corduroys, a much-needed addition to my very tired backpacker's wardrobe, and paid for them by their weight. I owned those cords, and wore them a lot, for years.

Anyway, back to Vinnies in Dulwich Hill, where most of my fellow shoppers were actually shopping for their clothes and household items, rather than on the lookout for that lucky find. It was a bit depressing. And it wasn't even that cheap! But on Saturday morning, my little girl who has recently discovered the fun of rummaging through her drawers to try on clothes then parading the outfits in front of me, will have her very own dress-up box with a couple of hats and handbags, some princess dresses, a pair of cowboy dungarees and at least one fake fur stole. Let the make-believe begin.