Frocks, women over 50 and shameful bullies

I’ve been taking a kind of Twitter break over the past few weeks. I’ve been posting photos and blog posts and replying to tweets about them but I’ve not instigated a series of tweets or joined in a conversation until this morning.

When I had a look at my timeline this morning there was a series of tweets from one woman who was upset and angry because another woman had criticised the new dress she was wearing and had proudly tweeted photos of herself in it. It’s not my kind of dress (more on this further down) but she looked lovely in it. It sits slightly about the knee and shows off a bit of cleavage The important thing is that she obviously loved it and was happy with the way she looked.

She later tweeted some photos of her legs and she felt good about this because she’s had a knee replacement and so this wasn’t just pride at her new dress it was courageous to state in public, “This is my body and damaged or not it’s fine by me.”

Then the onslaught started from a rude woman (also over 50) who ripped into her for wearing a dress that was too short, showed too much cleavage and for goodness sake woman dress your age and get back in your cupboard type tweets.

Let’s have a look at the way I dress.

I found my style when I was 17 and it hasn’t changed in 41 years so not I am over 50 and really close to 60 and a bus pass. I have worn checked or striped shirts and jeans for years. I have 8 or 9 pairs of jeans in my wardrobe and about a dozen checked/striped shirts. I also have a collection of vest tops with spaghetti straps and – be prepared to be shocked here – I’m a natural D cup and they show off so much cleavage my boobs look like dumplings boiling over in a pan of soup.


My skirts, of which I have two, are┬áboth above the knee. Obviously this is all wrong especially when you take into consideration the fact that I have thread veins on my ankles and my legs are so white they’re almost blue.

If I, or the woman mentioned above, want to walk down the street in bikinis or burkhas then it is our right but other people have no right to judge just because their dress sense is dictated by their narrow minds and inbuilt fear.

My hair is long (touches my shoulder blades with ease), is naturally curly and falls into ringlets. Sometimes I wear it loose, sometimes I wear it in a plait and sometimes (sit down for this one) I wear a pony tail. A pony tail and I’m not a teenager – how dare I?

My hair is (depending on the person who assumes I’m listening to them) is too grey, not grey enough, needs to be dyed or should be cut short. The sisters of one of an ex told me every time they saw me I should shape my eyebrows so that I looked more normal – I mean shit, who wants to look normal?

Anyway, please excuse me as I’ve got to go out shopping. I’m going to be wearing my tight jeans and a little vest top with spaghetti straps. My bra is of the sheepdog kind (rounds them up and points them in the right direction). Men will be corrupted by the sight, women will faint and mothers will cover the eyes of their children as I brazenly walk down the street proudly displaying my bubbling dumplings.

I’m proud that I’m not growing old disgracefully and I’m glad I’m growing old like me. No woman should be bullied into feeling ashamed for not following imaginary rules.