Upon watching an Agatha Christie’s Poirot mystery last week, I stumbled upon a startling realization. The requirement for being truly English: you must own at least one dumpy sweater. I do not say this to cause any offense, and I realize this is probably not even relatively true. But watch the British telly, and you will notice that more often than not, every character (who isn’t a wealthy aristocrat, anyway) wears a dumpy sweater at some point.
These sweaters aren’t inherently ugly, not like The Ugly Christmas Sweater. They are plain, of questionable color. They have similarly undistinguished buttons down the front. So they aren’t ugly in an obvious way. They are Frowzy. That is the word. Frowzy.
This is a disheartening doom. To be truly British I must, and at any cost, attain a frowzy dumpy sweater, wear it with anything and everything, and hope the Fates will finally accept me into the Kingdom.