I’ve decided that I want a robe. It seems like a reasonable thing to want, when bathing is one of your major pastimes and also your chief source of warmth. However, I’m too much of a cheapskate to buy a new one, so instead I’ll take my maternal granddad’s old brown robe as a model, and start looking through vintage stores for something similar.
I’m not sure why I don’t own one already, when I have to ferry my naked, cooling body between the bathroom and the bedroom three times a day. Maybe because I know it will be a slippery thing, and once I’ve tied a robe on, why rush into clothes? Why not just hang out in the robe, and eat my dinner in it, and flop around, and work, and read my books, and take a trip to the corner store for M&Ms? It’s a hazard I’ll have to accept, I guess.
Also, this is my hair right now. It’s a thing. In fact, it’s high time I did a post about hair – I guess my bald goblin was the impeding factor, in the past.
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