A SENSE OF STYLE
He had been searching through various wardrobes and cupboards, with no success. He’d even rummaged through the old wooden chest he used to keep laying around — nothing. Eventually he gave up, and marched off in the direction of the console room.
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Where are my clothes? I can’t find anything.”
She sidled up behind the console. “Um… they’re in the wash.”
He stared at her, open mouthed. “All of them?”
“Oh no, not all of them.” He sighed with relief. Until she added, “the rest went to the local Charity Shop.”
“What?” He couldn’t believe it.
“Well, those smoking jackets and frock coats - you never wear them. And the other stuff wouldn’t fit you anyway. Those check trousers — ugh!”
He stared at her in shock. “But what about my cricketing whites?”
Rose returned the stare. “And when did you ever play cricket?”
“Well, I did once,” he remembered. “Yeah, not a bad innings, though I say so myself.”
“Well, they’re in the wash too. And as for that multicoloured monstrosity…” She produced a pair of scissors.
The Doctor’s face paled. “Rose, no.”
“Too late.” She held up some square pieces of thick patterned cloth which he recognised all too well. “These’ll make good dusters.”
The Doctor was at his wits end. “But all I’ve got left are the clothes I’m standing up in.” He indicated the leather jacket, dark shirt, trousers and a pair of Doc Martens.
Rose looked at him, hurt. “Don’t you like them?”
“It isn't a question of ‘like,’ Rose,” he patiently replied. “I’d just prefer to have some say in the matter.”
“So you don’t like them?”
He could tell when he was being manoeuvred into a corner. “Now, I didn’t say that. I mean, these clothes are comfortable. It’s just…”
She waited for a reply. “Yes, Doctor?”
He sighed. This was one argument he wasn’t going to win. “I despair of you, Rose. I really do.” But he smiled as he said it.
Rose smiled back. “Come on, then.” She skipped toward the main doors. She looked back and saw a look of uncertainty on the Doctor’s face. “Dinner with Mum. You hadn’t forgotten?”
“No, it’s just… well, it’s freezing out there. Couldn’t I just grab that burgundy greatcoat I used to wear?”
“What are you like?” She reached for his hand and propelled him through the open doors. “You're just like a big kid sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” He considered that for a moment. “Well, I’ll just have to try harder, won’t I?”
Then they both laughed, heading down the street arm in arm, with the promise of Mrs Tyler’s Sunday Roast to look forward to.