Sharing clothes

The wonder of having three girls (and a boy) is that you can always find some kind of wardrobe solution in any crisis. This week is a case in point. We are in an incredibly hot part of northern Spain with little money and no car so we have to walk to all potential fun activities. The reason we have little money is that we made an ill-fated stop at the hospital last week to get daughter one’s dodgy toe checked out. As she is registered in Spain as being half-Spanish we figured (wrongly, oh so wrongly) that she would not have to pay full whack for a toe check. They charged us over 300 Euros to tell us there was nothing wrong. Almost 25 Euros of this was for a plaster. Lesson learnt. Next time we definitely don’t scrimp on travel insurance.

Anyway, we decided to go to the local outdoor pool, which my partner assured us was “nearby”. An hour later, we were still crawling through the 38 degrees heat. The baby, who hadn’t slept much at night due to the heat, was having a lie-down in the pushchair. Everyone else was wilting. Eventually we found the outdoor pool, which was lovely and blue and clean and inviting. Everyone got changed. Except me. I had forgotten my swimsuit. Luckily, I have three daughters. My bra said it was hot pink. It could pass for a bikini top, I figured. Unfortunately, the bottoms did not entirely match the top, being kind of off white. I recalled having a chat with a male colleague once who said that matching underwear was the sign of a true woman. I fear I will never pass muster.

However, daughter one had a spare pair of off-red knickers. Aha. I put them on. I didn’t match, but what the heck. An eagle-eyed woman eyed me suspiciously. When push came to crunch I decided that the colour clash wouldn’t work. I looked at all the clothes in our bag and spotted daughter three’s shorts. Okay, she’s six and I am…considerably older. However, they are stretch cotton. I put them on. They fit.

I headed for the pool. Everyone had a great time playing wheelbarrow races (I was the wheelbarrow). When we decided to leave, daughter three looked despairingly at her wet shorts. I checked the bag again. At a push she could fit daughter two’s spare skirt and top which was in actual fact daughter one’s old halter neck top when she was four. Problem resolved, we trekked home. When i say home we are staying in a relative’s kindly donated home. It is full of lovely things and has a paper partition door. We have a destructive, recently ambulant toddler on the loose. If we leave it without breaking anything I will feel some sense of accomplishment.





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