I dig through my messy cupboard and find a particularly smart spaghetti-strapped black-and-white top. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, but with some help from the husband, I manage to slip it on. It's looking fairly nice with the jeans, although he mutters something about why I buy clothes two sizes too small. I remind him that I have given him two sons at the same time two years ago and that he better watch it.
I gaze in the mirror, pausing to admire the effect, and then think, wait - this is just a little bit bold. Just too slinky somehow for me, by itself. I rummage through the cupboard some more and find a light white shirt, which I sling on over it. I stand back and look at myself. Yes. This is perfection.
I walk out into the drawing room to slip on my shoes. My husband, who is already tying his shoelaces, pauses to look up at me and exclaims with pure delight
I stare at him.
Crushed, I go back to change into normal clothes.