I've heard - more often than I'd care to - the "when I'm old I'll wear purple" thing. Never really made sense to me as I don't there has ever been a time when I didn't wear whatever colour I felt like.
Purple? Sure, why not. Fuchsia? You bet. Tie-dye? check. Paisley? Yup. Clown shoes with juggling frogs on the toe? My favourite footwear for the nonce.
You know when purple IS a problem? When you're 102 and have no eyebrows whatsoever and you decide to paint them on. In purple. That's a problem. But only because I don't know where to look.
At the deep orange lipstick lining the nonn-existent lips? At the purple eyebrows that almost reach the hairline...or where the hairline would be if there were more than a dozen badly coloured hairs on your dried apple of a head? Maybe at the board shorts, except that I was too afraid to see what kind of spindly legs might go with the seriously aged body. The t-shirt with "Bitchy Mama" would be ok...except for the boobs at the waistline. I really don't need to be reminded of where the girls will spend their final years.
I almost didn't get off the elevator at the right floor I was so flabbergasted at the crone with the parcel. On the up side, if I decide at ninety that I want a new career I know you can be a courier at any age you want.
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