“Bring it, Darth Bathrobe!”
~ Jim Butcher, White Night
When it comes to dressing up, my clothes and I enter some sort of mutual aversion: all I like is dirty, all that’s clean looks shabby. The thing is: I want to feel comfortable in what I wear. The dilemma, however: most of the things that are comfortable are not really presentable. Usually, the husband leaves me alone when it comes to the way I dress, but sometimes, when we are spending a night out, he likes to join me in our walk-in closet. And usually, we disagree…
“Sooo… you already know what you are going to wear?”
Wrapped into my fluffy pink bathrobe, barefoot and with dripping wet hair I look at him in light panic. I actually wish I could spend the rest of the evening in this cottony gown. At a venture my hands grab something from my shelf.
“Well… err… how about… hm… this t-shirt and the black jeans?”
“Jeans and t-shirt? For a night out?”
“Well… after all, that’s what you gonna wear, right?”
“But I cannot wear this combo?”
“I want you to look…”
I can see his brain work.
“… even more beautiful than usual.”
“Nice save.”, I say and laugh.
“So, how about that skirt?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little too short?”
I squeeze myself into the teeny-weeny red skirt with the black hearts.
“See, that looks great.”
“I can’t breath!”
“When I move around, one can see my bum!”
“Balderdash! Can’t see a thing.”
“I don’t feel comfortable in this skirt.”
“Then why do you own it?”
I peel myself out of the skirt again. And reach for the robe.
“You’re not putting that back on.”, the husband rules and gently takes my bath gown away from me.
I pout a little. Then I start to freeze.
“Gimme back my robe!”, I whine.
“Let’s take it back to the bathroom, where it belongs, shall we?”, the husband ignores me and evacuates the robe.
The husband walks back upstairs and rejoins me in our closet.
“You’re still not dressed.”, he states.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious!”
“So, if you dislike the skirt, then what exactly do you like?”
I look around in the overstuffed wardrobe: shelves overflowing with clothes of any shape and color. Then I face the husband. Trying to hold back my tears I wail:
“I have nothing to wear!”
“There, there.”, the husband consoles and while hugging me his hands collect different clothes from my shelves octopus style.
As he retires from our embrace he thrusts a bundle of clothes into my arms, smiles and says: “Here you go.”
I look through the clothes he collected.
“My black dress? Again? That’s what I wear every time when we go out…”
“And every time you look stunning.”