Don’t panic. This is not a sleazy attack – it is a celebration of relaxation.
I asked the two women in the house what the best moment of the day was for them – expecting some flattering response like ” Oh, it is when you come home and we see your handsome face…”. Well, it turns out that the best moment is when they get in the front door from a long day and can take off their bras.
At least they were honest.
I’ll be equally so – I’ve discovered that the best moment for the male side of the place is when I finish whatever hard work has kept me out, return home, and can get into my pyjamas or nightshirt and bathrobe. It signals the entire end of external care and an opportunity to get comfortable. Whether I choose to read a book, write a column, or fall unconscious is uncertain, but at least I will be doing it at home.
And that’s actually the fulcrum around which the whole thing turns – that word ” home “. It’s the essential ingredient in any happiness – even if it is a temporary home in a hotel room on the other side of the country. Doesn’t need much extra to make it work – a book, a television show, a cup of coffee or a drink. A chair or bed to sit on. A sense that the work is done and need not be re-commenced until tomorrow.
If you can superadd the knowledge that you have a clean set of clothes ready, a little money, and have caught up on your correspondence, you need no more.
Note: after the bra, undies, shirt, pants, and whatever come off, they need to go in the wash or the closet. Strewn around the place detracts from the happiness. And draped from the overhead fan draws nervous glances.