I had every intention of changing out of my bathrobe, but the day did not go exactly as planned. Usually when I wake up, no matter what I have on my plate, I make sure to take a shower and get dressed. It’s not that I don’t have a nice bathrobe. It’s actually a really cute, fuzzy blue robe with yellow duckies all over it.
I had every intention of changing out of my bathrobe, but the day did not go exactly as planned.
Usually when I wake up, no matter what I have on my plate, I make sure to take a shower and get dressed. It’s not that I don’t have a nice bathrobe. It’s actually
a really cute, fuzzy blue robe with yellow duckies all over it.
True, it might not be the most sophisticated bathrobe, but it makes me smile, and it did get me out of a ticket when I got stopped by a cop the day I drove the kids to school in my robe. And, no, the ticket was not for driving in my bathrobe, but thanks for asking.
Having learned my lesson about wanton public bathrobe wearing, I have since made sure that I restrict my bathrobe usage to home, and even then, only at night and early in the morning. This policy has always served me well, and I try to keep to it, lest I wander outside and someone recognizes me from the wanted posters plastered around our town of me in my ducky bathrobe.
But the morning I woke up and realized that everyone slept through their alarms –– because the alarms never went off because the power went out in the middle of the night and we had 10 minutes to get everyone ready for the camp bus, and we had to do it all in the dark –– I suspected that changing out of my bathrobe was not going to be the top priority.
Somehow we got everyone ready and out the door in time. But as I started up the stairs to get a shower, the doorbell rang.
“Hi, we’re from the tree service that works with the power company,” said some dude on my doorstep in a hardhat. “They got your report about the power going out, and we’re here to see if there is a fallen limb on the line.”
“That’s great,” I said, clutching my bathrobe closed. “I think I heard
something come down last night.”
“Can you show us where?” he asked.
Reluctantly, I went outside and pointed to the spot where I thought the trouble was. Then I ran inside before any police cruisers drove by and recognized me.
As I started up the stairs a second time, the doorbell rang again.
“Hi, we’re from the power company. Just wanted to let you know we got your report, and we are working on the problem.”
“That’s great,” I said, clutching my bathrobe closed again. “But the tree guys
already told me.”
I closed the door and went to get a cup of coffee to take upstairs with me and calm my bathrobe-frayed nerves. But as I started up the stairs a third time, the
doorbell rang again.
“Hey, is your power out?” asked my neighbor.
I nodded, sighed and stepped outside to show him where the tree guys were working on the lines.
“OK, cool. Nice bathrobe, by the way,” he said as he waved goodbye and headed back to his house.
I scanned the neighborhood to make sure there was no one else lurking about whom might ring my bell or take pics of me and send them into “America’s Most Wanted.”
Then I turned to go back in the house and change out of my stupid bathrobe.
But as I went to open the door, I realized it was locked. I had locked myself out
of the house. In my bathrobe. At 9 a.m. And there was no way to get back in until my husband got home from work at dinnertime.
Somehow I managed to make it through the day, locked out of the house, in my
bathrobe, until my husband returned. As he pulled into the driveway and saw the
kids and I sitting outside, he noticed my bathrobe.
“Hey, you’re in your bathrobe,” he observed. “Did you want to get comfy early tonight?”
“No,” I sighed. “Just getting a jump on tomorrow.”
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