This week’s #writephoto prompt is
A Desiccated Follower Of Fashion
Cosmo Politan, Little Tittweaking’s very own fashion guru had an eclectic taste in clothes as well as pigs, as witnessed by his prize-losing herd of cerise Gloucester Old Spots. Despite being preternaturally dehydrated with a skin tone similar in texture to a used Formula One tyre and a waist that defied all attempts to hang trousers from it, he still had a loyal following of one.
Hermit Crabbe had spent the first twenty-seven years of his life being dressed by other people: his mother, until she ran off with a peripatetic hydraulic entrepreneur who promised to lift her spirits; his grandmother, whose internationally famous collection of antique antimacassars offered her myriad opportunities to wrap the compliant Hermit in a Rutland lacewing or Preston double weave; his first (and so far only) girlfriend, whose nascent career as an experimental bandage designer led to his skin not seeing daylight for seventeen months and puberty being delayed by twice that; and Mrs Neapolitan Jerkoff, Cosmo’s double-jointed sexual partner who enjoyed the challenge of manipulating Hermit into ever smaller gimp suits. When Cosmo discovered Neapolitan in flagrante with his trusted financial adviser and pig inseminator and send her packing, Cosmo found himself bereft and Hermit undressed and with little clue what to do.
He appealed to Cosmo for guidance. ‘Check out my wardrobe and help yourself. Oh, and you’ll need these.’ He offered Hermit some scissors with which to extract himself from a size zero Zorro gimp. ‘Choose something loose fitting.’
Hermit squeaked away, first to find somewhere discreet to unwrap himself and then to open the hallowed portals of the wardrobes.
He stepped back, stunned. There was every kind of clothing. Chinos and Jeans, Oxford Bags and Drainpipes. Waistcoats and Frockcoats, Tailcoats and Donkey Jackets.
Cosmo called for him to hurry and choose; he wanted to comment on the choice.
Taking a deep breath, Hermit plunged inside, frantically pulling the myriad assortment aside until…
He smiled. That was exactly it. It was loose, it was colourful and it didn’t look like it was regularly used as it was clearly hidden towards the back. He slipped it on, gave himself a quick twirl of appreciation and headed downstairs.
It took Cosmo a moment to take in the lurid turquoise two piece and Hermit’s grinning and happy face. If that was to be his first attempt to chose an outfit for himself, thought Cosmo, then he really needed help. ‘Why that particular,’ the maestro swallowed a little piece of sick that he had unexpectedly gurgitated, ‘ensemble?’
Hermit was beyond noticing the disgusted expression, the sour odour and the less than perky body language. For he had his ideal rig; it met every criteria and even went with his name. His first Shell Suit!