If Clothes Make the Man, Put on a Party Dress

Shoot me if I ever go shopping for clothes to stay home in. The clothes I'm home in are the same clothes I'm out in. They're the ones I remove when it's time to put on my pajamas. And if there's a day I don't leave home (for instance, if I'm throwing up) I just stay in my pajamas.

I don't get why you need specific clothes to be at home. If I'm painting, I wear painty clothes that remind me of all the other times I've been painting. If I'm using cement to attach broken dishes to my mosaic stairs, I have a baggy pair of holey jeans that I can't wear out anymore. When I'm cooking (which is about as rare as throwing up) I wear an apron. And if I'm doing any of my other favorite things that don't include lying on the sofa or watching TV, I feel just fine in my normal clothes.

That's why I laughed the other day when, with thirty minutes between a play and dinner, my friend said we had just enough time to go shopping for some new clothes to stay home in. I've bought my share of running clothes, school clothes, work clothes and dressy clothes, but I've never spent a dime on 'home clothes'.

If I'm at home and for some reason I think it's necessary to save my 'good clothes', I change into something bad. These undesirables include a favorite wool sweater with a tiny moth hole, an old plaid shirt that's so long if tucked in it makes my butt look big and a giant pair of boyfriend jeans that in addition to rolling up the cuffs three times I have to roll down the waistband. These are my home clothes. I didn't have to go shopping for them.

I've asked an Italian friend if they use the phrase, 'shoot me if...' and he told me they say 'kill me if....' but he assured me I'd be understood in any case. So, if you ever catch me out buying clothes to stay home in, shoot me or kill me before I make the purchase. I want to be sure I'm never caught dead in stay-at-home-clothes I've actually gone shopping for.
 

It's about the coffee, not the talk

I remember two things about my childhood house; the address (15 Dean Street) and ladies coming over for coffee. They used to sit in the kitchen with my mom and I imagine they talked about stuff like curlers and tv trays. If the company (we didn't say guests in West Michigan) wanted tea or 'pop' instead of coffee, it made no difference. The morning was meant for slow sips and refills .  

Last week a ski lift operator invited me to grab coffee on his break and I told him I didn't drink coffee. He said that's not what he meant and I knew that's not what he meant, but the truth is, if you accept an invitation for un caffe' (an espresso everywhere else in the world) you can only drink un caffe'. Consuming anything else takes too long.  

Grabbing a (tiny) cup of coffee in Italy is all about the coffee and not at all about the talk. Of course we have real coffee dates, too; the ones where you actually take off your coat and nurse a cappuccino or (like me) an extra hot milk with cocoa. I never say no to those invites. It's the drink-a-cup-of-coffee-in-20-seconds-invitations that I feel I must decline.

I've asked my adult students what I can order and they had lots of answers; hot tea (which means they didn't understand the question), cold tea (ditto), hot chocolate (much more expensive than the coffee I was invited for) and orzo (soluble barley that's defintely not my cup of tea).  

I'm starting to think that the only thing you can throw back with the same passion and speed as an Italian coffee is a shot of grappa. Must I choose the lesser of two evils? Or will the askers accept leading me to water without forcing me to drink?