The belt to my favorite robe never came back from the wash. It must be with the socks that are sucked into the Maytag Bermuda Triangle. I need that belt. I don’t want to catch even a mini-glimpse of myself in the mirror if that robe isn’t tied shut. I don’t want to start my day with that vision, knowing the body underneath my youngish, frayed jeans is an imposter. So, I swiped a belt from a different robe. It’s tan, flannel and tattered, creating some bad robe feng shui against the supple, pink terry cloth. I’ll have to ask my cleaning woman if she’s seen it. I’ll end up gesturing, making a circular motion around my waist, until we both smile and hug, knowing we finally understand each other (wish I could speak Polish). Yes, I realize where this is all leading—just buy a new fucking robe. 

Besides my main, favorite robe, I have a silk one that folds up to the size of a linen napkin for travel and an old, flannel one for my do-it-yourself root touch ups. If you’re not a fellow robe-wearer, I don’t understand you. I can’t function at full capacity if I don’t have a robe to put on after a shower. What would I wear for my after-shower chores of applying non-frizz product and putting on makeup? And, how would I keep warm when the hot water shuts off and I’m hit with that cold air? I can’t accept that people do these kinds of things wearing simply a towel or nothing at all. My sister horrified me when she told me she goes straight from a towel to getting dressed. What, where’s the gentle transition from hot and wet to cold and dry?

As a kid, I remember my mother getting ready in her bathroom in one of those velcro towel wraps. She recently stayed at my house, and, yes, there it was again in all its colors of patterned glory. It was confirmed—she is a lifelong user of this shoulder-less product (brrrrr). Now, that thing definitely does not fold into a napkin size, so she basically packed a towel. That is way too much cubic space gone to waste. Fodor would be aghast! But, the show stopper was the donning of her house dress with its front zipper. I kept a straight face when I said, “Holy shit, are you really wearing a house dress?” I am truly perplexed by this item of clothing. It’s neither robe nor wrap and truly can only be worn inside the house. They’re ugly, old-lady-like and are sold at flea markets. I’d bet that the material is flammable, too. I think this particular fashion item should be outlawed. I may start a movement to protect women from the shame of these so-called dresses. It’s only one, small step away from wearing a scarf over a head full of rollers to the supermarket. 

Six-and-a-half million pounds of beef have been recalled because of salmonella; the Kavanaugh SCOTUS issue looms; and a 12-year-old Boy Scout walking with his troop was recently killed by a drunk driver. So, who really gives a shit about robes and house dresses? I guess I do. It’s a much-needed vacation from the headlines about our fucked-up country with its violence and divisive politics. Plus, after my last blog about my aunt’s passing, I needed a light one. Now go put on your robes or burn some house dresses, and have a great time doing it. Maybe I’ll even write a whole blog about slippers. That’s something to look forward to soon.

I again dedicate this blog to my mother, who is really having a tough time going home to a house without her sister. She is keeping busy playing golf, canasta and mahjong, but the stillness and quiet at home is still new. Her strength as she survives the third huge loss in her life (husband, mother, now sister) is both inspiring and unreal. I think I’ll send her a new velcro towel wrap to cheer her up this week. 

p.s. I’d be happy to share the info about the BEST robe ever if you’re in the market for a new one. Zappos will have it to you the next day. 

*All names have been changed.

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