I love my granny nightgowns. I am sure there are lots of people that do. Mine are a lot more then nightwear however. They serve several purposes for me. They are casual wear, lounge wear, even business wear. They are mostly plaid, and when they are all clean and stacked up on my shelf where I keep them, they look like a "Gathering of the Clans" in Scotland. I do have a few flowered models, as well . I like to have a wide variety to choose from. I have some that are floor length, mid calf, and some knee length. All, very sexy.
I can usually be found in a granny nightie from 7pm until 10-11 am, and perhaps on a Sunday, all day. I think I inherited my love of flannel from my Aunt Dorothea. She could often be found running the vacuum around in the afternoon, still granny clad. I know I didn't inherit it from my mother, who, A) doesn't wear granny nighties, and B) cringes every time she hears of someone new catching me in my granny.
Like today, for example. It was a new egg customer, who stopped in and wanted three dozen eggs. I had never seen him before, and now, probably never will again. I was folding laundry on the kitchen table, while chatting with Brogan on the phone. ( I am a fierce multi-tasker). Spud the Wonder Dog was next door on his morning visit, and the poodle is pretty close to deaf, so no one was around to let me know someone was pulling in. Since I was sitting behind a huge mound of laundry, I was oblivious.
"Crap!" I said to Brogan, as the guy stepped on the porch and knocked on the door. "There is an egg customer here.." to which Brogan replied, "And I'm sure you are in your nightgown". "Yes, of course", I said, after all, it was only 10:30 am. "Don't answer the door," she suggested, as I sat looking at the guy across the top of the clothes pile, which I had thought earlier was too darn big, and now thought it wasn't nearly big enough.
" I can't ignore him. He is looking right at me, knocking on the door", I said, which seemed a bit peculiar to me. He was standing on the porch, not 10 feet from me, looking directly at me, knocking. Weird. Anyway, as I went to the door I was glad at least it isn't my ripped granny nightgown, of which I have two. ( Parting with a flannel nightie is very hard for me to do. They are just at their softest when they start to tear. It is tragic that way.)
"How many dozen did you want?" I asked the guy through a crack in the door. I noticed how he was trying not to look too closely, yet, couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the vision of plaid loveliness that stood in front of him. " Umm...three would be great", he said, clearly thinking, if I get three, I will never have to come back. "Okay, hang on", I said. I realized there was no way this guy was going to be any trouble, so I told Brogan I would talk to her later. Although, I'm not exactly sure what I expected her to do should he have been trouble. Holler bloody murder on the phone?
I went out to the laundry room, trying to not sway and wobble too much, and was thankful I had my floor length model on today. They are great at covering up my Cankles. I grabbed three dozen which were thankfully all boxed up. I would hate to have had to sit there and wash and box 36 eggs while the guy stood watching me, in my nightie, from the cold porch. I quickly gave the man his eggs, and sent him on his way...just as the dog started to bark. Day late and an egg short there ,dog.
Not that it has only been egg customers to catch me not ready to face the day. There was the oil guy, the guy that rents upstairs, the farrier. I am pretty sure the UPS guy has too, since they recently changed drivers. I heard our old driver requested a different route. I am sorry to say I suspect I had a hand in that. It isn't always my fault however. The other day, my daughter had a couple horses she was saving delivered here by an old family acquaintance. The new owners were going to be arriving at the same time with their trailer to pick them up. I knew all this, and said to Cliffy, "I better get dressed early today. I don't want Pete to catch me in my nightgown." He agreed, as Cliffy always does, ( a mighty good fella, Cliffy..)and I walked through the house to get dressed. As I walked toward our room, Lacy scratched the door to go out. She is 14 years old now, and can't be trusted to hold it too long, so I peeked out the window, saw nothing, opened the door and let her out. I stood in the living room window and watched as she hopped down off the porch and disappeared. Now, she is getting a bit senile, and is so small, I didn't dare leave her outside to go get dressed in case they pulled in with trailers in tow, and didn't see the little dog. So, I peeked again, nothing. I opened up the door, and called her. No poodle. I could hear what sounded like trailers coming down the road, clattering and banging. Again, I said "Crap!" I ran out on the porch, and looked and there she was half way across the lawn, sniffing around. "Lacy!! " I hollered. She can't hear a thing, so didn't respond. " LACY! GET OVER HERE!!" I bellowed this time. She had her back to me and didn't move a muscle. By now I looked down the road, and here comes Pete, early, darn him.
I leaped off the porch as graceful as a gazelle, ( on three legs, with a monkey riding on his back), and hurried over to where the dog was. I snatched her up off the ground, and turned to hurry back to the porch. I saw the truck put its blinker on out of the corner of my eye. "Crap!" yet again. I whipped open the door, jumped inside, slammed it and went to close the inside door when I realized I had closed my long, flowing flannel in the door. About 3 feet of bright red flannel was flapping in the light breeze, as I stood clearly, right in the doorway. If the truck had been a bull, he would have charged, there was that much red waving. I dropped the poodle, quickly opened the door, yanked my nightie in, and slammed it again. I closed the inside door, and decided there was enough people out there to move the horses from trailer to trailer. They really didn't need my help.
Now, I know what your thinking. Why not get dressed? I don't know. My granny nightgowns are so comfy, I just love them. Heck, my prom dresses were as close to a granny as you could get, I realized many years later, looking back at old photos. I've even said I want to be buried in one, on my side. ( I hate the thought of spending eternity on my back). And surely, not in anything, but a flannel granny nightgown. Say, I have a wedding coming up...Think they make white flannel?