Wednesday, September 28, 2011

The Robe

I was telling some mom friends of mine the other day about my odd desire to buy a robe. Not just any robe, but the robe. What exactly is "the robe"? I'm glad you asked. The robe must be made of either satin or silk (though I'm poor, so I will gladly accept some cheaper knockoff material, so long as it gives the appearance of a more expensive texture) and it must be a solid color. However, if it's tasteful and not tacky and overdone, I would be willing to accept a nice floral print or abstract design. One point that is absolutely non-negotiable: it must be calf-length or longer. Melissa, you ask, why all the specifications? Why does it matter? Well, I'll tell you.

In this robe, I envision myself rising early from bed, around 6am, putting on the robe, and going downstairs to brew a pot of coffee in my well appointed kitchen. I sit and read the the newspaper while I wait, and not a virtual version, but the real deal. My husband descends from upstairs straightening his tie, ready for another day as a brilliant financial mind with some big name firm that you see on TV but really have no idea what they actually do. I pour us both a cup of coffee and we map out our day. He'll be home around 6pm, while I'll be having lunch with "the girls" after dropping Trey off at his expensive private preschool. We're having roast for dinner. What kind of roast? Who the hell cares, it's roasted meat and it'll be delicious, served with mashed potatoes, a vegetable, and wine for Curtis and me (milk for Trey), and it'll be eaten in our dining room at a dining room table that's too big for our small family, but is perfect for entertaining, which I do often. After that it'll be a nice long bubble bath for me. I slip into a lovely silk nightgown (not a nightie, this isn't that kinda party... not that night anyway), then put the robe over it and when I come out, Curtis is sitting in bed reading a book. I sit gently on the edge of the bed, apply my hand and face cream, then lay down on my memory foam, pillow-top, feather filled, automatically adjustable bed and slip into happy dreams, readying myself to do it all again tomorrow.

Ahhh, what a glorious life, right? How lucky am I? Not that damn lucky.

I searched and searched until I found the right robe, ordered it, and it arrived 3 days ago. I'm still waiting for it's magic to take effect, but so far I'm still living in my 2 bedroom apartment, drinking canned vanilla lattes from the refrigerator, spending my day snacking on the couch and playing with my son. Curtis gets up early, at around 5am, but he doesn't put on a suit to go crunch numbers, he puts on fatigues to go weld stuff on the naval base all day. Dinner is a pre-made lasagna from Marie Callender's that simply requires me to cut a slit in the film across the top and put it in the oven for about an hour (or 12 minutes in the microwave if we're feeling impatient). Maybe I'll open a can of vegetables to go along with it... or not. Curtis takes over baby duty so I can go take a quick shower, then toss my hair up into a messy mass of curls that will inevitably come loose and try to snake it's tendrils around my face, suffocating me in my sleep. I throw on whatever big t-shirt I can find and a pair of comfy underwear (and those are Hanes bikini-cuts, for those who were unsure) then exit the room to find my husband not reading a book, but sitting on the couch playing his umpteenth season of NCAA Football '12 on his Xbox while my poor child sits there bored, waiting for someone to play with him. Curtis will be out there all night since he'll end up falling asleep on the couch, game still on and controller in hand. After I finally get my baby to sleep, I'll climb onto my cheap, rapidly deteriorating mattress and sneak in some more Facebooking while I catch up on whichever show my DVR recorded for me tonight. When I finally look at the clock and realize it's 1am and I'll need to be up in just a few short hours, I can't help but look over at the robe draped across my ottoman and feel cheated. What the hell, Robe?! This is NOT what you promised me when I saw you on TV, on all those rich women in the Hamptons, in their billion dollar homes. What did I do wrong?

Maybe if I order the slippers...

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Oh sweet baby jesus, that was the funniest thing I've read in a while! I snorted and almost woke up Leia. You definitely need the slippers for the magic to work, something about clicking the heels??