pointless domestic anecdote
Jun. 15th, 2018 02:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/2LSf4fm
I have a sort of robe-like garment I wear around the house. I often sleep naked, or in very little clothing, and when I get up to putter around, I prefer to have some kind of garment on. One of my favored garments is this thing, it’s kind of like a peplos– it’s basically two sheets of fabric, sewn together at the shoulders, and then sewn down the sides a little ways in from the hem, and there’s a neck opening and then the sleeve holes are a little ways from the body but there’s no actual shaping.
The other day Dude noticed that it was torn, and I said I’d been meaning to mend it, and in the course of the conversation he referred to it as a “caftan”. Which, I suppose, it technically is. I was impressed with his use of the term, feeling that it was a non-standard word that most men his age wouldn’t have in their vocabulary. He gave me a Look; he’s the son of a tailor, after all. Why wouldn’t he know what a caftan was.
Anyway.
I was wearing it again this morning. No, I still haven’t mended it…
I went out and was hanging up laundry, and when I came inside, Dude had gotten out of bed and was standing on the steps of the porch. (We have a screened-in, glassed-in porch in the back, which we use as our living room all summer.) He was in my way, so we paused and looked awkwardly at one another, which is typical for how we live. “Good morning,” I said, finally, because we do try to make a habit of speaking solicitously to one another, as left to our own devices we’re both so socially awkward and graceless as to inadvertently offend even in intimacy.
He raised a hand slowly, and saluted. “O caftan, my caftan,” he said.
(When pressed, he admitted he’d been working on that one a while.)
(Of course I laughed like a loon, I live with him on purpose.)
(crossposted to Pillowfort for ease of commenting)
(Your picture was not posted)
I have a sort of robe-like garment I wear around the house. I often sleep naked, or in very little clothing, and when I get up to putter around, I prefer to have some kind of garment on. One of my favored garments is this thing, it’s kind of like a peplos– it’s basically two sheets of fabric, sewn together at the shoulders, and then sewn down the sides a little ways in from the hem, and there’s a neck opening and then the sleeve holes are a little ways from the body but there’s no actual shaping.
The other day Dude noticed that it was torn, and I said I’d been meaning to mend it, and in the course of the conversation he referred to it as a “caftan”. Which, I suppose, it technically is. I was impressed with his use of the term, feeling that it was a non-standard word that most men his age wouldn’t have in their vocabulary. He gave me a Look; he’s the son of a tailor, after all. Why wouldn’t he know what a caftan was.
Anyway.
I was wearing it again this morning. No, I still haven’t mended it…
I went out and was hanging up laundry, and when I came inside, Dude had gotten out of bed and was standing on the steps of the porch. (We have a screened-in, glassed-in porch in the back, which we use as our living room all summer.) He was in my way, so we paused and looked awkwardly at one another, which is typical for how we live. “Good morning,” I said, finally, because we do try to make a habit of speaking solicitously to one another, as left to our own devices we’re both so socially awkward and graceless as to inadvertently offend even in intimacy.
He raised a hand slowly, and saluted. “O caftan, my caftan,” he said.
(When pressed, he admitted he’d been working on that one a while.)
(Of course I laughed like a loon, I live with him on purpose.)
(crossposted to Pillowfort for ease of commenting)
(Your picture was not posted)
