It's official... I am my mother... and other horrors

Last May, I went on a shopping binge for Dave's mom, who was celebrating the big 77. Among the things I got for her were two floral house coats. I remember her AND my mom practically living in house coats during my childhood. Of course, they were never worn out of the house- they were HOUSE coats. Actually they were/are short sleeved, cotton, calf-length, button-front or snap-front robes. Women of my grandmothers' generation put them on over their day clothes while they did housework and cooked. The house coat protected their clothing like an all encompassing apron. If some one came to the door, the house coat was slipped off and the lady of the house looked presentable for her company.

The next generation- our mothers' generation- didn't bother to put on day clothes most of the time. Off came the night clothes, on went the house coat and that was dressed for the day- unless she had to go out. And by that I mean REALLY out. She might wear her house coat to pick up the kids at school as long as she didn't have to get out of the car, but she would never wear it to the grocery store or post office. She didn't bother to change out of her house coat if she had company, either, since her company was usually family, neighbors and kids. If a salesman or stranger came to the door, she would dash to get dressed, but those exciting events were few and far between. She had coffee with the milkman and the next door neighbor three times a week- in her house coat.

I remember thinking that I would NEVER be so slothful as to spend a whole day in a house coat. It was analogous to spending the whole day in your pajamas, in my opinion, and what was with all the florals and lace, anyway? Hideous. However, whenever I remember my Mom, I remember her in her house coats. She had tons of them.

SO, based on history, I naturally thought Dave's mom would be delighted with the ones I bought her for her birthday. I was wrong. She tottered into my bedroom with them one afternoon and gave them to me. "They're too big", she said. "I want you to have them." I had already washed them, so there was no returning them, and I accepted them gracefully. "I'll go get you some in a smaller size," I said, to which she hurriedly replied, "No, no, thank you, no." Guess she really loved them :)

And, of course, you know what happened. One day late in the week when I was WAAAY behind in the laundry, and feeling fat and dreading any article of clothing with a waistband, I slipped on one of the house coats. Damn, it was comfy. Damn, it IS comfy. So comfy I carried one with me to San Diego. Its' the perfect article of clothing. Too bad it looks like bed clothes, lacks style, and only comes in assorted florals.

So... gray hair... allergies... asthma...dry skin... crooked mouth...and now, house coats. I am my mother. When we meet again, she is SOOO going to laugh at me.