I’ve had to ditch the dusters (dastahs). Irishman said he’d refuse to sleep with me (read that as something else) if I continued to wear them. In revenge for his hateful, chauvinist ultimatum, I did toy briefly with the idea of celibacy over comfort but I caved in and grudgingly gave into his wishes a couple of months ago. To demonstrate my pique, I had an idea to dramatically burn all 12 of them on some sort of Fashion Disaster style pyre (see Indonesian Fashion: Rule Number One Permalink: https://lottienevin.com/2012/04/06/inonesian-fash…ule-number-one/ but that would have been dreadfully wasteful so I bequeathed them instead to one of the ladies in the apartment block who clearly has a much nicer husband than I do.
Now that my beloved dusters are no longer part of my wardrobe, I’ve taken to wearing wraps made of hand-printed batik instead; they are my own self-styled version of Kenyan Kikoys.
Since we moved into our new apartment 2 months ago, I’ve been trying to make it as homely as possible and my latest home improvement has involved some gardening. Our ‘Garden’ is a narrow balcony that leads off the sitting room, not a huge acreage by any means but it’s better than nothing and at least some sort of space to put plants and go and have a cheeky cheroot when I succumb to the nicotine monster.
I bought a load of plants, pots and a large sack of earth and yesterday morning set about re-potting some of the larger plants and potting up the new ones. It was a very humid morning and the sweat started to pour of me in no time as I lugged the heavy bag containing the earth and heaved the pots around. I was wearing my batik wrap, until that is, the moment that it slipped down and left me stark naked on the balcony in full view of anyone that could see me from the office buildings that surround us, or the streets below, or come to think of it our neighbours. Rather than cover my modesty, I continued shoveling earth into the pots and arranging the plants until I had finished the job. If a man can walk around Jakarta stark naked, then surely a woman can go about her gardening naked too? I didn’t tell Irishman about my brief dabble with naturisism. I thought I’d wait for him to read this and then he might just change his mind and let me wear my beloved dusters again.