When I was first married back in the late '60's it would never have occurred to me to go without make-up...shaving my legs and underarms was done in the privacy of the bathroom and cutting my toenails was the same.
Suppose I was still in my Mothers mindset in many ways...there were certain grooming rituals you kept to yourself...so razors and that dreadful Veet hair remover cream...do you remember that...it smelt foul, but was the only thing to use on my moustache, was kept in the bathroom cabinet along with a box of Tampax ...out of sight.
My then husband knew perfectly well that I shaved my legs and that I was horribly conscious of the line of black hair on my upper lip...so just why I hid creams and razors away I haven't the faintest idea.
One of my neighbours from those days used to nip across the road to the corner shop in her slippers...they were actually high heeled fluffy mules...I thought that dreadful...even worse, was on a Friday she'd put her hair into rollers and tie a chiffon scarf over the top in the morning...ready for the going out to the 'pub in the evening.
I was such a horrible snob that I thought her quite beyond the pale...
One of my boyfriends Mothers wore a cotton apron...the sort that crossed over in the front...she used to take it off when the milkman called for his money...she'd hang it up on a peg in the kitchen and smooth down her skirt before answering the door.
The minute she'd closed the door on the milkman she'd put her apron on again.
Another little quirk of my neighbours was to hang her undies out on the washing line so everyone could see...huge brassieres'...slightly grey from constant wear and washing...lace trimmed knickers and full length nylon petticoats...
I was horrified by the blatant display of undergarments...used to dry mine on a clothes horse and whip them off to stuff them behind a cushion when the man from the Prudential called...Lovable bras that could stand up on their own and plain black knickers...black stockings for work and suspender belts, which weren't so much sexy as practical.
The neighbours husband was called Colin...he worked in one of the carpet factories and used to come home drunk most evenings...shouting and banging on the door 'cos she wouldn't let him in until he'd sobered up...he used to sit on the doorstep for ages...all bleary eyed and needing a shave.
Done it again...sort of drifted from the original plot. Never mind...I'll tell you about soaking my feet another time.