Knowing my want to dye lots of things different colours, especially black*, Tom nabbed these old washing machine dyes, left in the recycling/reuse area of our communal house, for me yesterday.
And, well.. they seem to have a bit of a novelty factor... being somewhat displaced from their place of origin..
* so yeah, the wearing black thing. Much as I get lots of flack about it, I like wearing black. It's no excessive goth tendency and perhaps there's a mild hint at the my depressive nature, but for the most part, it's practical. I like colour but I don't like to wear it. Colour complicates things. Black goes with everything. Clothes don't have to be separated at laundry time when it's all dark. I can grab whatever off the shelf and know that it goes with whatever else I pull off the shelf. Simples. Black is also a particularly good disguise and an incredible blank canvas.
I don't iron, either. Not a single thing. Life's too short.
And if I'm honest, sometimes I get tired of the digs & jokes. Sometimes even a little pissed off by them. And I've never really understood the need that some people have to tell you what to wear..