Wear 369: Introducing Mr Darby Pickles

Sometimes, under the heady influence of the exposure to the public that this blog offers, I forget that I am not a supermodel until I hit the preview button and see the photo I have taken and what I was wearing. Rest assured, dear, shocked reader, that I did not actually wear this outfit out of the house. I found this odd sheer skirt on an op-shop social day B——, S—— and I went on last year, and the hi-lo sheer patterned shirt with exposed zipper was a local score on a quick trip out to the shops. Sheer shirts are easy to style (ha, ha ... I always crack myself up when I start talking like a real fashion blogger), but it is a little weirder to work out how to wear a sheer skirt, so you may see some funny ideas around this one in the future. I like it: I just need to play it out. [P.s: Apologies for the truly awful photo of Irene—not sure what I did here!]

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The other day I told you I had two bits of exciting news. The first was my newly acquired ticket to London. Here is the second. He's down below there, a couple of photos down. Mr Darby Pickles. He's Lolli's new little brother, a canine friend hopefully there to bring her out from under the bed, and to keep her company. I'm not quite sure how much she likes him yet, but he is certainly popular amongst the humans in the house. I met him online. The timing was right. We decided to meet. So we packed up the car with boyfriends and best friends and man's best friend and drove the nearly three hours to Wangaratta, a rural Victoria town with a RSPCA currently housing a couple of likely suspects for friends, but mainly a whippet cross they named 'Darby'. It is so hard to know when you get a dog from a pound. Will they like living with you, will they be hard work? And this time, will they be good or bad for the precious puppy that already lives at our house? V—— was tasked with holding Lollii and B—— and I went to meet 'Darby'. He came out of the cage, jumped up onto my chest, and kissed me on the ear. Sold! But we went through the motions of seeing how he and Lollii got on in the yard at the kennels. Lollii was nonplussed (the North American version of the word, meaning 'couldn't care less'). She just ran around with the biggest sticks she could find. We also went through the motion of going off for a coffee to make a decision, but we turned back to the pound before we even got to the main street of town. I signed the paperwork, made the appointment for the small operation to take away 'Darby's' manhood, and he was adopted. A day later V—— drove three hours up and three hours back again to bring him home. And our home is forever changed.

We had decided that if he was to come home with us, we would call him Mr Pickles. Often the names given to the dogs by the RSPCA are new and temporary. It depends how much of a dog's story they know. For example, Lolli was called Starla. She had got out from home and was found on a very busy road (she has no road sense, being a sight dog). She was not microchipped and not spayed. Dogs that end up through the RSPCA have to be neutered in two circumstances: if they are to go back to their owners, and if they are to be adopted. You could argue against neutering, but ultimately it is the stupidity of humans that necessitate this action: the humans that allow dogs to escape from inadequate fencing, the humans that grow weary of the responsibility of extra dogs, the humans that hurt and neglect and dump. When Lolli's ex-parents were presented with the costs of microchipping, neutering and of the fines associated with a dog ending up at the pound in the first place, they disappeared. But no-one knew what her previous name had been. And so, being the long-legged, large-headed girl she is, she became Lollipop. Darby was micro-chipped. They knew he was a Darby and had always been. He had got out from inadequate fencing and chased rabbits. As the lady at the kennels said, 'Der! He's a whippet'. And they too had declined to come back and pay his exit fees. Our gain. He was obviously loved. He is affectionate and mostly good (when he is not pushing the envelope). So now he will have to be Mr Darby Pickles. And we are so happy to have him. Gotta go. We're taking them to the park.

The Outfit
Shirt: Op-shopped
Skirt: Op-shopped
Shoes: Irregular Choice 'Love Bug'

Photographer de Jour: V——

Who wore it better?

Getting linky today with:

pleated poppy


  1. I could just hug Mr. Darby Pickles. He is so wonderful, lame word but it covers all the bases. I laughed at your comment how you laughed when you find yourself talking like a real fashion blogger. But I have to say, you look great in that outfit and the expression on your face is wonderfully magaziney.


    1. Mr Pickles would not say no to multiple hugs, he loves them. Thanks for noticing the haute coutureness of my expression. I have been taking hints from Chuck Palahniuk's Invisible Monsters:

      Give me lust, baby.
      Give me malice.
      Give me detached existentialist ennui.
      Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism.

  2. Awwww….what a cute baby and a great story.



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