Sometimes it means ending up trudging through a half-built tunnel in an ensemble that's more post-modern absurdist installation art than clothing:
|I. Am. A. Serious. Journalist.|
My mother is a couple of sizes smaller than me, and so while I was pleased to fit into her grey stretch pants, I decided to keep the skirt on as a way of protecting my butt's modesty.
When I arrived at the worksite, they promptly handed me the giant boots, tent-like safety shirt and hardhat. Everyone always looks silly at hardhat jobs; but this really took the cake.
Shortly after the Premier herself arrived, and as she said a quick hello, looked me up and said "That's quite an outfit."
My voice rose in indignation.
"I was wearing a skirt! It was late notice! I had to borrow my mother's trousers!" I spluttered.
"Oh, I think that the whole thing, with the different elements... it's certainly got an edgy Queensland style to it."
SPLUTTER, splutter.... sigh.
Forget the sun. I'm getting burned by the Premier of the state now.