Tim left his dull threadbare old robe in Michigan so when he was up in the Bay Area with niece Naomi they went to a thrift shop and bought him a “new” one. It’s an adorable knee-length number in aqua plush with brown polka dots, a sassy little tie–and a thick hoodie. Right out of a Doris Day film.
He modeled it for me and even with the shades, it’s very difficult to take him seriously in that get-up.
I don’t know why I have been so irritable with him all week but I wonder now if the robe has had something to do with it. My bad mood started Monday. I was breathless after doing all the laundry, including his of course, and scrubbing his bathroom. Then I came upstairs and he had taken a shower and, without using a towel, wrapped himself in that absurd shorty polka dot get-up.
Dripping on our carpet he said, winded, “You need a shower chair in there.”
“We have a shower chair.” We keep it in a corner of our bedroom and Jerry lifts it out and takes it to the shower stall whenever we anticipate he will be coming up for a shower.
“Naomi’s has a little holder on the side of hers for the soap, so it doesn’t scoot around.”
I may have clenched my teeth. We had bought the chair for him–paid for it ourselves, without going through insurance–based on its sturdiness and balance, on the fact that it had a back and arms. We looked it over thoroughly, sat in it, tried to tip it over.
But we never thought to look for one that had a little built-in soap dish.