The Perfect Robe
Perfect attire for Autumn
I am pretty sure that it is warmer outside my house than it currently is inside it. Though I have just eaten the cosiest chicken roast, sipped copious amounts of tea and warmed the cockles of my heart by striding around a huge forest in thick socks and a puffy fluffy anorak, with a scarf wrapped around my head and thermal gloves on my blue fingers, I am still ABSOLUTELY freezing.
Rumour has it that it is all in my mind, though you need to know that I strongly object to this opinion. Despite the fact that the other occupants of this house are currently wandering around in tshirts and looking knowingly at each other as if me and my foibles are just something they have to deal with, I do believe that as Mistress of the house, my opinion on the temperature of the house is the only one that matters. So if I say it is cold it is damn cold and they are only warm because they are a)to stubborn to admit that is otherwise and/or b) too full of the kind of joie de vivre I seem to be lacking on a freezing Sunday in November.
Anyways this rant (I promise it’s nearly over) is to tell you that in my dreams I am heading upstairs to a hot bath in a warm bathroom and that when I have luxuriated in milky, rosy waters I am climbing into the cosiest pair of grey marl pyjamas, and topping them with a pink UGG Frances robe because frankly in my fuddled, frozen state I am almost hallucinating about how utterly warm I would be in something both flannel and fleecy.
Then I want a chai hot chocolate, an engrossing book and a handsome man to rub warm cinnamon oil on to my pedicured toes (try it: it warms up your entire body!). Spicy hot chocolate? Tick. Steamy novel? Tick. Handsome man? Tick. Everything but the robe m’dears. Everything but the robe.
I do hope Santa Claus is on the case.