For the past month or so, we have been engaged in a tight-off in the Tatler office. This is in no way like Bake Off. Instead, it is a competition between myself and two other colleagues about who could remain bare-legged for the longest and stay out of tights as it gets colder.
‘We are having a tight-off in my office,’ I announced to a man I met at a drinks party the other day, when there was an awkward lull in conversation and I couldn’t think of anything else to say about the Tory conference. His eyes bulged slightly. ‘That sounds very exciting,’ he said.
‘Oh no no, it’s not,’ I replied airily. ‘We’re just seeing who is brave enough to stick it out with bare legs until October, maybe even November.’
The man looked a bit sad. ‘I had visions of you all ripping your tights off in Vogue House.’
Anyway, today I have become the first faller and am back in my boring old black opaques. Isn’t that feeble? OVERJOYED that I can stop shaving my legs every day, though.
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