Monday, June 26, 2006

Under the weather, but dressed for it

I've completely succumbed to the grip of my cold today; I'm sitting here rugged up in a big polarfleece dressing gown and fluffy slippers sipping hot lemon and honey and hoping the healing rays of teh internet will work their magic. Luckily there's an ACT Teachers' Strike today, so B'bee is cosied up in the loungeroom overdosing on episodes of The Goodies and grazing his way through the pantry as only a growing boychild can do.

So Im cruising, looking for diversions easy on the brain. And finding fun little things like Arty Fufkin's cellar cleansing. And oh, how I wish I lived in America! I don't, really, but there's *so* much going on there with letterpress. I don't know why Girlprinter bothered to come back; probably something to do with love and clean air, I suspect.

I should explain my dressing gown, since I've got time. I found it at a charity shop. It's a camel colour, with bottle-green cuffs and colour, and it's very large. What sold me on it was not the tasteful almost gold-and-green colour scheme, though: it was the customisation. It's very large gown, made to fit someone the size of Best Beloved (who wears a Triple XL t-shirt for his shoulder width) but adapted to fit someone my size (tallish but under 6ft woman). The cuffs have been folded back and stitched, the collar has been firmly stitched flat, the buttons have been ripped off and replaced by old brown plaited leather buttons, and the tie has been fastened at the back with a press-stud. And all done in a very amateurish, large stitch with dark brown cotton. Obviously by someone who wanted their old person to not drop their cuffs in their soup and stop losing their dressing gown tie.

The sheer ugliness of the robe appealed to me instantly. I've never been one to wear Peter Alexander sleepwear or pink kitty robes. When I down tools, it's flannies and trackies all the way, and the dressing gown just made me feel like my door could really be closed to the world. As soon as I put it on I knew that it had been waiting for me. The length is right, the arm length is perfect, and I hate losing robe ties.

I bought it way before I met BB. Unfortunately, it fits him too, and he seems to have appropriated it, leaving me a double-sided kimono wrapper-thingy that is too cold to the initial touch and has scratchy embroidery. I keep telling him that the arms are too short for him, but he just says that it will be perfect once he takes the stitches out. It will too, but he's too lazy to do it. So the first one out of bed gets the robe.

Or, in the case of today, the last one out of bed after the first one has gone to work. So it smells of both of us, it's covered in cat hair (they love it too) and the stitching's starting to trail, but it's perfect for a wurty sick day at home.

[blows nose] I just hope no one knocks at the door :)


TJ said...

I have a bright pink and orange giraffe-splotched dressing gown. Full length and puffy as hell, with a big sash that looks like one of those things you tie a kimono up with.

I truly believe that it can be seen from space. So very very ugly.

True story: I was wearing it one time when that Ned Seselja guy was doing a door knock at the time of the ACT elections, and he actually stumbled back in horror at the sight of it when I opened the door.

(Then again, that was probably just due to my morning face. Guh )

Zoe said...

What is it with men and the dressing gown flogging?

I blame mothers who buy their son's underpants until Too Late In Life.

And hope you're feeling livelier soon, Ducklet.

Ampersand Duck said...

Heh. I'm glad you understand, cause it was your man who knocked at the door this morning! I looked very glam in the gown. At least he's taken B'bee away for a while to play with Saggy. Blessed peace (for both he and I, I'd say!)

Pavlov's Cat said...

Over too many winters in Melbourne I went through several versions of what I dubbed, generically, the Suicide Nightie (because it's what you put on when you're feeling, well, you know).

It had to be pink or pink and white (small spots or checks permitted) brushed cotton or flannel, floor length, with buttons and a collar, and it had to be several sizes too big. Whenever I put on the Suicide Nightie I began to feel better immediately.