I have this enormous, once fluffy pink robe.
This is a robe that Lester hates with all the passion that a man can hate a big pink robe. It’s an absurd amount of hate for an item of clothing, but every time I wear it he grimaces and makes grumbling sounds under his breath.

I love this robe.  It has stories and has been on adventures! Yes, it’s thinning in places, has lost all of the adorable fluffy goodness it once held and has holes in various places.

Many years ago I was described as having more robes than anyone not named Hefner.  This was once true. I have dwindled down to four robes now, but the pink robe is my favorite and probably will be because of how it came into my life.

Four years ago when Lester moved into his apartment, we would hang out together on the balcony and talk for hours. It was starting to get cold so I would transport my robe from my house to his apartment when we would have dinner together or we were going to watch a Monty Python movie.  He picked out the pink robe for me to keep there so I wouldn’t have to keep carting mine back and forth.  When we broke up, I pulled open the bag of stuff that I kept at his house and there was my robe.   Thanks to some amazing mental blocking  I can’t describe the Oprah like crying that followed.  I do know that I tossed that damn thing in the back of my closet and vowed to burn it at the next Dropzone bonfire.  In the back of closet it stayed until I went through my monthly closet cleaning and there it was and instead of being a big ol’ sissy-la-la that cried over stupid things, I put it on and wore it like a straight jacket of sadness for the next month like it was a uniform.
It made it to a few bonfires and dropzone sleep overs unscathed.

Clearly, Lester and I got back together and when I moved in he began doing this strange squinty eye thing whenever I would put the robe on. It took him a good long while before he finally expressed his disdain for the robe.
“God that thing is UGLY!”

SHOCKED.

“What!?” I pulled the robe close around me. “But you bought this for me!”
“It’s falling apart.” He gave the robe another disapproving once over and now it was out there, the hatred of the robe.  Now that he said it, he was free to mock the robe every time I wore it.  The more he glared, the more I wore it.  I’m not exactly sure what my plan was. Perhaps if he saw how much I loved it, he would cut it some slack.  It’s not like I was asking him to take it out for a beer, or even worse…wear it himself.
He knew he wasn’t going to win the battle of the big pink robe so he took another avenue.  He bought me another one for Christmas.
My main argument for loving the big, pink robe is because he had gone out and bought it for me. It had sentimental value.  The new robe is awesome. It’s soft pink with plaid black print. It’s a great robe, but I was kinda sad when I opened it because that meant that I would have to give up the big, pink robe.  Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the new robe. How could one not love a brand new, soft, pink robe?

The big pink robe is my reminder of those long nights on the balcony talking about just about every thing we could think of. It’s the blanket that I wrapped around my legs when I would fall asleep on his couch watching a movie.

Wendi came over the other night and I told her how much he hated the robe and she flipped her shit.
“NO! you can’t get rid of this robe! This pink robe has so many memories!”  I promised her that if I could ever part with the robe that she would find it in her mailbox in Arizona.

I’m sure if Lester reads this he will have it bubble wrapped, packaged and ready to go.