My Robe.

I've been wearing my robe for a week and a half straight.

I feel eighty years old.

Last week it was the stomach flu.  After that I really wanted to burn my robe, but I settled for washing it.

This week, I'm wearing my husband's old robe he hasn't worn since '94.

He's not a robe kinda guy.

But, this week, I'm just plain cold.

I don't know if I sloughed off a fat layer with my illness last week, but I can't get warm.

The weather dropped about 40 degrees from a few short weeks ago.

There's cloud cover. Rain. Wind.

It feels like the Pacific Northwest, in the Pacific...West.

The mailman, UPS guy, FedEx lady, and all the other delivery people just smile, roll their eyes when I open the door looking all schluppy.

I don't care, I'd be in bed all day if I didn't have to pee.  And eat.  And cook.  And shower.

It's time to put the good ol comforter over our sliding glass doors in our bedroom for a extra layer of warmth, because our heating bill will be through the roof in no time, and the kids you know, want Christmas presents and stuff.

The only downfall to the comforter trick is that it lets NO light in. 

I love it, it's like a cave.

My husband on the other hand does have a job he has to go to.

And slapping the alarm every 8 minutes for 2 hours isn't enough to wake him. 

He needs daylight to rise to.

Anyway.

Hope my mom doesn't mind I wear my robe to Thanksgiving dinner. 

More room to stash rolls in the pockets.

3rd serving of candied yams here I come, just loosen my belt a little.

I'm determined to make my robe a new fashion statement.

Like Hef's. 

Only cuter, and younger.