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The texture of the cloth on the outside was so rich and creamy I wanted to roll around on it.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Dec. 12, 2006

Babies, babies, babies… I feel like I have left ya’ll at a kennel or a boarding house for the past month. Forgive me for being nonexistent. But, as Willie Nelson says, “You were always on my mind….”

Did I really just quote Willie Nelson?

Yes, yes I did… move along.

Let me just forego with the pleasantries and just tell ya’ll about the damn robe (of degradation) already. I have been mentioning the robe for nigh on [checking calendar… Good Lord! Since October!?] a month and a half and the story really isn’t that great in the first place, but since I have been promising ya’ll the scoop, here goes.

Back in October my coworker and I went to Galveston for a site visit of this resort down on the beach. (Galveston… beach… Heh. Right.) Anyway, we went down the Friday before she had a conference starting on that next Monday. We showed up in Houston, had our favorite driver pick us up at the airport (free plug for Reggie @ Platinum Limousine, ya’ll call him, really… he’s awesome.) and he took us to Galveston. He even stopped off at a liquor store so my coworker could get a bottle of Stoli. Nice guy, that Reggie.

We were soon at the resort and Reggie dropped us off and we checked in. The place is massive and has a great spa and was built and is owned by that man who owns the Landry’s restaurants. Not naming any names here… I get Googled for pierced breast way too often as it is. (Sorry pierced breast Googlers… I have thwarted you again with my willy nilly mention of that which you seek!)

The last time I was in this same resort it was for a sales meeting. And the Vice President of the company I was working (please take into consideration that I was young and skinny enough to wear a bikini and not feel self conscious about it) for (not the same company I am working for now… I repeat… NOT THE SAME ONE.) put his foot in my crotch while a herd of us were in the hot tub after drinking heavily.

I thought it might be a mistake… a mistaken foot in the crotch, if you will… and I know you will. But, no. He was not forced to place his gnarled, old ass toe anywhere near my princess because of the number of people in the hot tub.

That hot tub can seat about a dozen people and by that time there were only about four or five of us left. So, I… being ever polite remarked, “Goodness it is warm in here. I am going to take a dip in the pool and then call it a night. ‘Night!” and I dove in the pool and swam to the other side (underwater… because I am yella… and a chicken – with amazing lung capacity apparently) and pretended not to hear Mr. Inappropriate ask me what room number I was in. Gah.

Where was I? Oh, yes… checking in.

So we got checked in and we made plans to meet downstairs in like five minutes because we were expected for dinner at this place adjacent to the resort and we had to walk. So I schlepped my stuff upstairs and threw everything just inside the door, dug my toothbrush out of my bag, brushed my teeth, tinkled, washed my hands, put some lipstick on and ran back out the door. I didn’t even have a chance to look around the room, open the curtains, check out my view, any of that stuff.

I met my coworker downstairs and we walked over to Landry’s and met with the other people on the same trip and our hostesses. They were so sweet and the dinner was wonderful. They laid out our plans for us for the weekend and I basically didn’t hear anything except, “Susan, your massage is scheduled for 11 am, you may have to leave the tour a bit early to get there by 10:30.” My reply? “Tour?” Heh, just kidding. I was all for seeing the property and SO SO SOOO ready for that massage.

When dinner was over they asked us all to pile in their little bus and they dropped us back off at the hotel. I went upstairs and went to take my stuff further into the room, maybe even unpack, iron something when I looked on the bed and saw a present. For ME?!?!? Yes, for me. See? It says so right there on the card. “Susan” See? It’s mine.

I opened up the gorgeous box and unwrapped the gold foil tissue paper (very froo froo) and inside was the most gorgeous robe I have ever seen. It was a beautiful pale eggshell color. The inside was white terry cloth and the texture of the cloth on the outside was so rich and creamy I wanted to roll around on it. It had the name of the resort embroidered on the right breast and on the left there was a little pocket, with my name embroidered in the same color… gold.

I was so excited. I pulled the robe lovingly from its confines of the beautiful box and that is when I saw it.

The tag.

Fucking tag.

Guess what size the robe was ya’ll? Just guess. No, forget it. I’ll tell you.

It was a medium.


Let’s take a look back shall we? When I looked like THIS (see below) I was not a fucking medium.

NOT A MEDIUM. Also, I should have probably been fed a sandwich or something.
AND? See that heinous turquoise robe hanging on my closet door? Size? XL, baby.

I am a big girl. This was just mean. This was the most beautiful robe I have ever felt or laid my eyes on… and it wouldn’t fit enough to overlap like robes should do. Nope.

I almost cried.

I packed the robe fondly back into the stunning box it came wrapped in, laid the golden tissue (fiddle, on the ground at Johnny’s feet…. (wait a sec, this is not The Devil Went Down to Georgia… sorry.)) just so within the box and placed it beside my luggage. I knew that I would have to give the robe up. I knew that I would give it to my mother. She is the size of a small parrot and loves to wear robes, and the one she currently wears is threadbare and about as old as I am. So… to my mother the robe went.

The sales person was so sweet and when I thanked her for the amenity she apologized for the size (is it THAT apparent lady?!) and said she would send me one that is my correct size. But, alas… no. I have not seen the robe come in the mail or delivered by golden horses drawing a pearl chariot.

I am bereft of the robe of glory and beauty.

I will continue to wear my husband’s long-sleeved polo t-shirt as my robe… and you will all love me for it.

Right? Right? … Hey, come back here.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

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