Wednesday, February 11, 2004

Bathrobe


There's nothin' like a good soft robe


Because it was clean, and the only towel-like thing in the linen closet, I'm wearing the second bathrobe. You know the one I mean: mottled wornthin deepblue terrycloth, shrunken tight, short, and three-quarter sleeved from too many washings. The too-tight tie's about to pull apart, and when I first put it on, my arm went through that gaping hole in the armpit.

The good bathrobe was hanging over the bathroom door, lush and pinstriped, a Polo gift from Darcie the year I got her a bathrobe, too. (Lest you think bathrobes a lame old-people holiday gift, I might point out here that when Darcie and I had first met, I traded her a copy of U2's Zoo album for her almost-identical bathrobe -- our first love exchange.)

But it was clean, and close -- I didn't see the one on the door -- so I put the old one on post bath-with-the-baby anyway. And once I had her in my arms and we got to dancing around the living room, I wasn't about to stop for anything.

Later, the house dark, the girls home and asleep, I'll pass the good robe after a quick commercial-break pee, and think seriously about switching old for new, B team for A. But I won't do it. I'm just one of those people for whom, once you've dried off, danced, and finally settled into the television couch in the bathrobe, you're too far in the comfort zone to take it off again.

posted by boyhowdy | 11:17 PM |

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