Turns out it doesn't - it drapes around your waist! This causes a lovely, pleated flowing effect in the prettiest colours. So, when people look at me on the street, they won't be privately judging my cake-distended abdomen. Instead they'll say, "Saints save me, that doughnut-munching woman is wearing a cleverly constructed silk blouse in a divine botanical print and there are silk rosettes artfully placed over her right lung!"
Which is exactly the kind of effect I hope for from my clothes.
There was posh makeup too.
You'll note the shade of one of those lippies is Patchouli. Here is a weird fact: I don't know what that colour is. There was no tester and I haven't opened it. I have saved it for a surprise on Monday morning when I have to go back to work. I will be wearing Patchouli lipstick on Monday (unless it turns out to be a grey-sludge kind of colour, in which case the services of the reliable Jersey Road will be enlisted).
There were a couple pairs of shoes too.
Okay, twelve pairs of shoes. In my own defence can I say that my record is actually sixteen (London, 1998) and in any case we don't have Aerosoles in Australia.
And more Zara blouses. This spotty number has a meeting scheduled with a charcoal pencil skirt next week.
It has pintucks and spots, the two main requisites by me for work blouses.
And there was a souvenir that I'm surprised wasn't confiscated by the Taste Police when we collected our stuff from the baggage carousel.
The next time you're visiting a gift store in an exciting foreign city and wondering who actually buys this stuff, now you'll know: me.