Comfort at Any Price

This is how my night will culminate: trail mix, (maybe a bowl of cereal), Sleepytime tea, a little Dame Judi Dench on the TV, and my favorite red robe. Apparently I've dressed in this robe almost every (cold) night for the last thirteen or so years, at least that's what Martin claims. He seems to be ambivalent toward it, but I LOVE it.

It does not become me in any way. I found my enormous Land's End robe--red as holly berries--at an outlet center in Maine (I think--I can't remember now). It was far too big for me, especially at that time, but I didn't care. It was incredibly soft, not sensuously so like bird's feathers or spring leaves, but like a huge slipper--for my body. It has enormous pockets that are continuously filled with tiny choking hazards swiped off the floor or earrings removed at night or wads of kleenexes.

There is nothing attractive about this robe--it's 100 % polyester, bulky and voluminous; it completely hides any figure I might boast and the tie about the middle makes a big, unflattering knot. And yet it has been just the thing for three pregnancies and daughters who loved to nurse constantly and for as long as possible. It's as good as a blanket as I pad around our old, chilly house in sheepskin slippers where morning temperatures upstairs in our room waver in the 50's and 60's. I love this huge, ugly, comfortable piece of red perfection.

What's an ugly comfort you love? Give thanks for it tonight, as I shall when I wrap Good Old Red around me once again.