Hubby never says anything about what I have on. Oh, he compliments me on my appearance often, which is sweet, but he never comments on a funky outfit, ugly shoes or a dowdy jacket. I gave him strict instructions a long time ago about what he should and should not say when it comes to the appearances department. Like, always referring to my butt as tiny even if it grows to the size of a cattle barn. Or saying nothing about a new hairdo unless it's positive. Or stopping me from leaving the house in gold shoes and a gold purse when I've gotten too old to remember that that's always a bad fashion choice. And under no circumstances are we to dress in matching outfits, unless we're on Dancing With the Stars. He's a good man and sticks to the rules. He never tells me not to where something. Until yesterday. He pulled into the driveway while I was walking the dog, took one look at me and said, "that old purple robe has got to go." I looked down at the tattered, stained robe that had enveloped my feverish body for nearly a week and had to admit that he was right. It's not going to be easy. Dropping it in the trash may bring a tear or two.
I love that old robe. First of all, the price was right, $11.99 on the clearance rack. It matches my rosey pajamas and pink crocs that I walk the dog in at 5:45am these days. It's not too heavy, but not too thin. Just right for those frosty mornings when I don't want to bother with a coat. However, after three years of traipsing through the yard and general wear and tear the robe is a mess. Purple is usually the color of royalty. This shade has faded to a weak lilac color. It also has dark stains of undetermined origins on the lapels. Did I drool chocolate? I'm not sure, but whatever it is it's not coming out in the wash. I also noticed Friday that it has a funky smell. Granted, I'd been wallowing in it for a few days with a bad fever, but this was something else, an old, musty smell. Like the dog had been sleeping on it while I wasn't at home. And when Hubby asked me not to go toward the end of the driveway in that thing where the neighbors could see me in it, I knew he was just hitting me with the cold, hard truth. After all, this is a man who will sit with me in a crowd of 22,000 people while I wear parrothead paraphernalia. He does not embarrass easily.
We have a little ceremony around here when we throw away old underwear and old favorite clothing items. The purple robe will get the march to the trash can later tonight. Well, probably tomorrow, since it's getting late in the day. Of course, I'll have to hold off until Tuesday or Wednesday if I can't pick up a new one on Monday. Shoot, I might as well just wait until the weekend when I can devote a little time to shopping. In fact, it might not be a bad idea to wash it and stash it away for an emergency. It's usually dark when I walk the dog, anyway. No one will notice it in the dark. Will they? Nah, probably not. I'm sure they won't.
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