The Importance of a Decent Robe; Or, How Not to Scandalize the Neighbors

A few nights ago, Michael and I took Governor out on the deck in the backyard to give him a quick manicure and a pedicure. How it works is this: Michael holds the grumpy little guy (who absolutely refuses to be still) while I traumatize him with the dremel. It works marvelously well. And it is much better than that old guillotine-style-nail-cutter we used to have, until the fateful day it broke while still attached to one of Governor's toes. (That is back when it was my job to hold him while Michael trimmed his nails.) After running around looking for a screwdriver (it's really terrible, we know) to get the thing off poor Governor's bleeding paw, Michael refused to ever have anything to do with the contraption again. Rightly so. However, it now falls on me to do his toes. (Not fair, as I'm also the one to give him a bath, as well as the rest of his beauty routine.)

Using a dremel on dog toenails is a rather nasty endeavor. You end up covered in toenail dust: on your face, in your nose, all over your clothes. That is why I opted to put on an old-nasty-bathrobe I've had for over 300 years, at least. The very same bathrobe I've actually retrieved out of the Good Will pile a few times. It is 'white' terrycloth and it has an enormous stain down the front of it. (Blasted British tea does NOT come out of your clothes very well. So I don't recommend dropping a full cup of it down the front of yourself — unless you were already planning to replace said garment anyway.)

So here we are, dremeling away, while Emilia looks at us from behind the sliding-glass door. Next thing I know the door clicks, and Emilia is scurrying away as fast as her little legs will take her. Michael starts to panic, 'She's locked the door! We're locked out! I can't see her!'

While Michael is running around the house trying all the windows, I stood tapping on the glass door, yelling, 'Emilia!', causing all the dogs in the neighborhood to bark. In turn, their owners began to look out the windows at the commotion — undoubtedly witnessing me going berserk in a tatty old bathrobe. Meanwhile, Emilia kept running back to the door, smiling at me and then running off again. Little twerp.

Michael eventually got in the house (not sure how comforted I am by this fact), only to discover Emilia in the bathroom with the pink rubber gloves, a bottle of Windex (not good), and a cleaning cloth. Apparently she thought it would be a good idea to get a bit of cleaning done while we were out of her hair. Next time Governor gets his beauty treatments, Emilia goes in the highchair with Mr. Potato Head.

What is ironic about this is that the last time I remember wearing that robe (which ultimately caused me to put it in the Good Will pile to begin with) was when our social worker came over to the house for the finalization of Miss Milia's adoption. No, I did not pull it out for 'special', as they say. Rather, she showed up at the house an hour early. Since Michael was in the shower, I was forced to answer the door; which meant I was wearing that gorgeous robe, brown stains intact, hot rollers in my hair, and socks. (Why?!) I suppose all I needed was some blue mask on my face, a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, and Miss Milia screaming about a dirty diaper — just to complete the look.

I still don't think that enough time has gone by for me to easily laugh about that incident. Namely because I'm still not convinced that the whole hour-early nonsense, was, in fact, an accident — despite what our social worker may have claimed.

As for the incident on the deck a few nights ago? I was already laughing at the time. Michael, on the other hand, was not. However, once I wash that dreaded robe, I have decided that I will finally retire it. Having worked in a lingerie shop once upon a time, I probably own about 6 robes in all. It must be some perverse side of my personality that keeps reaching for that paticular robe.

If you do happen to find yourself in the market for a new robe, Natori makes fabulous ones. Not cheap, mind you — there is, after all, a price to be paid for looking dignified. Or if you prefer something on the warm-fuzzy side, you may want to opt for Barefoot Dreams (either of which can be found at Nordstrom).  However, next time I am in the market, I am going to look at the lovely Hotel line at Macy's, as we are already big fans of their bathtowels.