Close Quarters

Collette stifled a sigh as she and her girlfriend Lynelle, their arms full of clothes, approached the shop’s changing rooms, only to encounter a queue that seemed to drag on interminably.

Sensing her impatience, Lynelle nudged her playfully. “Hey you, cheer up. Hopefully, we won’t have to wait too long. And, if you like all of this lot and it fits, this will be the only shopping trip you’ll need to make this year.”

Collette brightened considerably at the thought. A single shopping trip, in her opinion, was one too many, but it was either bite the bullet and get on with it, or walk around in increasingly faded and threadbare clothes until she was arrested for indecent exposure—however unintentional.

The jeans had been the last straw. She’d been putting off buying new clothes, and putting it off some more, making do with what she had. She worked from home, so hardly anybody saw her, anyway. It didn’t matter what she looked like. But after a particularly tough hike one weekend, she’d dropped gratefully into a chair in their living room, and her landing had been accompanied by a dramatic tearing sound. Looking down in horror, she’d discovered that the thinning material from where her not-inconsiderable thighs brushed against each other when she walked had finally given way, and both legs of the jeans now sported matching horizontal rips.

Having paused in the kitchen to put teabags and sugar into two mugs and flick the kettle on, Lynelle had missed...