The Changing of Charles

Sometimes it takes a total stranger to point out to us the blindingly obvious.

Charles described himself as a comfortable person. Comfy trainers albeit worn down to the uppers were, when he was not at work, a permanent fixture on his feet. His clothes too were, according to him, well worn in. His hair had to be seen to be believed. In working hours it was scragged back in a harsh ponytail but on weekends he let it fall free. Alison, his long suffering wife, said it resembled something a bird had built.

Alison was a smart elegant young lady with certain standards. Often she’d nagged Charles to do something about his appearance. ‘You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards’ was her oft quoted criticism.

Charles, however, doggedly refused to change his ways telling her he would rather be comfortable than presentable. He often complained to the guys in the bar ‘she wants me to dress up like a pox doctor’s clerk all the bloody time.’ He was having none of it.

Then came the fateful Saturday when Charles and Alison had separate errands to do in the town.

‘I’ll meet you outside McDonald's at half past twelve’ he told her ‘and don’t be late.’

Alison was always late because she dawdled in the shops looking longingly at men’s clothes wondering if she dared buy him something new. She dreamt of seeing him in a lounge suit but knew he’d meant it when he’d told her he’d ”fly arse first around the moon before he’d wear one.” Maybe a blazer and some smart slacks? No chance. She knew he’d been wearing his ‘favourite’ jeans for more than five years now and, disreputable though they were, he showed no inclination to throw them away and went bananas when she threatened to.

Twelve thirty came and went and Charles sighed she was late again. He went into McDonald's braving the Saturday afternoon din of kids' parties and awful piped music and bought himself a take-away coffee. He was lounging against the window thinking dark thoughts of what he would say to Alison when she finally turned up when he became aware that someone was addressing him.

A little old lady was standing before him waving her hand. ‘And please don’t spend it on drugs you poor soul’ he heard her say. With that she dropped a handful of loose change into his coffee and shuffled away leaving him speechless. To make matters worse Alison, who had chosen that very moment to turn up laughing fit to burst.

That afternoon they went to a few Gent’s clothiers and also bought Charles some new trainers. On the way back home Charles dropped into his local barber and had his unruly mop hacked into something resembling tidy.

Charles had been changed