Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Creature of Habits

It was this last habit (um, yes, of mine) that prompted DH to purchase a housecoat for me for Christmas. Like our own personal little 'save the children' campaign, subtitled '... from Mom's excessive household nudity problem.'

To be fair, it was me who first admitted I had a problem and mused aloud that maybe, just maybe, having a housecoat would help. But then DH got that certain look in his eyes - that look that says, "Housecoat? Why, that's an item I can purchase from L.L. Bean!" (because while I *may* have a household nudity problem, DH definitely has an L.L. Bean problem) - and I knew I should keep darting around naked until approximately Christmas because there was prolly gonna be a housecoat under the tree for me.

Housecoats come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. The fine folks at Victoria's Secret would have you believe there is even a possibility of looking attractive in them, if your genetic stars align just so. But the folks at L.L. Bean - and therefore, by natural extension, DH - don't want to burden you with such expectations. They just want you to be warm and ugly in your housecoat.

(And I quote:) "I bought it really big for you, dear."

What the hell is that supposed to mean? "Um... thanks?"

And really big it is. He was also thoughtful enough to buy it in my favourite colour, which is typically known as "grey" but in its more massive applications is more often thought of as "pachyderm" (and regardless of the situation is never thought of as "slimming"). I can put my children inside it with me, which I can see being useful if a house fire ever forces us out of doors in inclement weather. But in the meantime I just put them in my housecoat and we spend our days haunting DH as the Ghost of Christmas Present.

"Whoooooo!" we say. "You are never gonna live this dooooooown!" 

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