There was a sort of bon mot swirling around the internet a few months ago that went like this: at some point in your childhood, you and your friends went out to play for the last time.
It’s the same with minis. At some point, I’d say in your 20s, you reached blithely, unthinkingly and confidently for a mini for the last time. Then the mini was put away. It’s not that you never reached for it again – it was just that reaching for it was never quite as simple from that point on.
It was my kids that did me for minis. It wasn’t just that they temporarily ruined my legs with weight gain and varicose veins – all the bending and crawling and scrabbling that goes on with small children ruled out a mini completely. The humiliation you have to endure is bad enough without flashing your knickers to everyone in the playground.
About two years ago, with my kids a bit more grown up (and having lost the weight and got rid of the varicose veins), I decided to wear a floral mini dress to a large garden
party. It was all going fine until I had to help my son, then three and a half, with his shorts in an al fresco wee situation.
I suddenly realised that even though we were trampling about discreetly in some bushes, I was bending over sufficiently to give anyone behind me quite the eyeful. I turned, panicked, to see two teenage girls looking in my direction in horrid fascination.
I have not worn a mini dress in the two summers since.
But really that comes under ‘wardrobe malfunction’. Had I been more organised and worn a pair of Marks & Spencer Modal Blend Shorts under my mini dress, I would have been all right.
Because whether or not you are ‘too old’ for a mini is a ridiculous idea, left over from a bygone era when such things actually mattered and we weren’t blessed with so much choice and flexibility in what we wear.