I watch the clothes spin like a dervish against a strong breeze, a semaphore of t-shirts, socks and knickers.  They form codes of colour and shape, flags sending out a signal.  What was once luxuriant and seductive, racy even, has become practical, mundane, perfunctory.  Time to splash out on that satin number my husband and I keep joking about.  Interspersed are the bright shades of the girls’ clothes that reflect my choices for them.  It will not be too long before independence, maturity and awakening are the new codes that are written.


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