In The Dark

Ah, yes, we are all familiar with the term comfort food.

Admittedly,, there are very few, and I do include myself, reluctant to admit that the quite valid description belongs justifiably in our vocabulary.

Yet, who among us, will cheerfully acknowledge the ever constant presence of a comfort garment that also holds a distinctive place of honor in most closets, again including mine.

I must also admit to an amazing wardrobe, heavy with memorable gifts from loved ones. There is absolutely no need to still own or wear my cherished antique and ragged robe of limp badly faded terry cloth.

Still in the dark of night and I, without valid cause, fear trouble may be lurking. the warmth of the tattered garment is akin to a Mother's hand,

It is what I reach for in times of angst, i,e,, an unanticipated fire alarm, or a senseless panic attack.

It is the reason fellow residents may be quietly contributing to a "Fund Anne A New Bathrobe" after my last notable fire drill appearance,

Perhaps I should prepare a public display of the other quite lovely and acceptable robes all new and prestine that never attend a fire drill and hang intact in the crowded closet,

Most likely they will all have a life of longevity due to being rarely donned or ever emerging in public,

Yet their weary counterpart of limp and faded terry cloth, worn out with decades of hot water washing is rarely home on a hanger but mostly in use.

It is my faithful companion through endless hours streaming noir and sundry episodes of both foreign and domestic mysteries nightly on Netflix.

And forgive me, but I cannot face the grim possibility of it's absence in my life.