Miaou, it's a bit of an inside joke in our family. See, my mother and her sister had a French mother and a Mexican-American father and they both have impeccable taste in clothes, furnishings, well, just in life in general.
You go to their home and feel warm and welcome and eat tasty food, but you can't help noticing their house looks fabulous and so do they.
My sister is very Latina in style.
I have always been the hippy dippy and cursed with the fashion sense of Whoppi Goldberg.
So they never fail to wonder what I'll turn up wearing.
I remember when my sister and I were teens, once we were all going to go to out somewhere, I think it was dinner and a party at someone's house - they're always doing stuff like that - and my sister refused to go until I changed my shoes.
I was wearing some old turquoise leather ballet slippers I'd worn a hole in the sole in at dance class and rolled gaffa tape over. With a tie dyed skirt and a huge black top I'd fitted onto my form with safety pins - it was the 80s!
I thought I looked great! She thought I looked like a bucket of sick.
At least I wasn't wearing my banana yellow parachute trousers!