The Housecoat

The housecoat has gotten a bad wrap.  I am as guilty as the next – making fun of the flowery and ever so billowy thin fabric, with no conceivable waste-line to boot.  But I have had an epiphany and I am asking for a housecoat for Christmas.

It all started with being sick and tired of sweatpants decades ago.  I cradled babies in sweat pants until I went to the store one day when the bloom was definitely off the rose, and saw myself in the glass by the meat section.  I left the cart where it was and walked straight to the car – never to be seen in sweatpants again.

The same thing happened to me about shorts.  One day I looked great in shorts.  The next day I looked like one of those garden ladies squatting with skinny legs from the knee down and sort of a jello-y conglomeration of skin upward – as though the skin just doesn’t know what to do so it moves every chance it gets looking for a better spot to rest.  Mine were good legs  –  strong with nice knees but no more – the knees are gone and if you can’t count on your knees then what can you count on?

So, I have this little shift that is bright orange and it has a zipper down the front and every morning I put it on while I make coffee and shake the dust out of my brain.  Today I looked down at myself while I sipped hot coffee and waited for Andy to join me at the table.  My non-shorts outfit was a housecoat!  It was easy to put on and

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it makes me a little bit more presentable while I scuttle about.  Everything is easier!  I can clean, cook, get the paper, walk to the front porch, water outside pots, and I am clothed, dressed, no shorts no jammies no sir.  And when I am ready to shower or dress, I unzip or unsnap and done.  Now I just need something to tie up my hair.

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