My mother always wore her Sunday best.
We told her on numerous occasions that it was just embarrassing to be seen with her. She strutted down the street in a voluminous flower print sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat, whatever the weather.
It didn’t matter what day of the week it was, or what occasion. A trip to the zoo on a Tuesday? Sunday best. A trip to the dentist? Sunday best. An appointment with the gynaecologist? Sunday best, with her special knickers thrown in for effect.
Perhaps it was only fitting that we buried her in it.
A shame she was still alive.
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