Can someone please tell me, how do I get out of my dressing gown on a weekend? It’s like the uniform of the sloth, driving well meaning people into slovenly ways. It’s like the Bermuda Triangle of the weekend. Last week I spent 3 hours lost within it before re-discovering the joy of real clothes. 3 hours in dressing gown, 2 hours out of dressing gown, followed by another 2 pre-bedtime dressing gown hours by which time it had totally lost its appeal. Perhaps it could become an olympic event; the sport of stopping your dressing gowned arse from hitting the sofa.
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