It was a gift

It's wash day.  Actually, it should have been wash day several days ago, but there were intervening necessities.  It happens.  You can imagine the loads.  There's the white load (with the cleaning rags and mops included).  There's the dark load.  There's the colorful load.  It's big.  And as it hits the washer, I thinks to myself, the red, black, and orange flowered shorts I am wearing would fit in this load.  As would the bright red t-shirt.  So off they come, and in they go, leaving me in this wrinkled suit I was issued at birth.  Being in the basement alone, I consider just finishing the wash that way, but an inherent fear of the neighbor stopping over and ridiculing me with derisive laughter causes me to reach for my robe.  It's a good, heavy, old robe of many colors in a herringbone pattern.  It was a gift from my bride.  Some time ago.  A LONG time ago.  It has seen several size changes in its wearer.  Sometimes, the belt is long enough to tie in a bow.  Sometimes the belt is long enough to tie.  It envelopes me in the comfort of an old friend.  I've been known to be seen in public with it, as I take out the garbage or go get the paper.  But there's something decadent about wearing it (and only it) at 1:24 in the afternoon.  Deliciously decadent.  It means that I am free--unencumbered with places to be or things to do.  I'm seeing a nap on the horizon, cuddled in the soft terry-cloth.  I'm hearing that old refrain in my head;  if God had meant for us to wear clothes, he would have issued them at birth.  Who knows, I may finish the day in my robe.  One of the best gifts ever!  Know you are loved!