Years ago, it has been so many that I cannot seem to rightly remember, I began using sarongs as a post-shower cover up, as well as the evening uniform of choice when paired with a t-shirt.
Since we moved to South Texas more than a decade ago, with its relatively mild year around climate, not to mention soaring summer temperatures, there is not a day that I do not tie one around me in some manner.
Before the ten-year-old Wee One was born, the then six or seven-year old Sweet One asked for a sarong of her own. Folding one in half, I tied it around her waist, over a white t-shirt. She looked adorable. When the husband got home from work that day, he laughed we he saw us, in our matching sarongs, and called us his "sarong girls."
We laughed moments later when he emerged from the bedroom sporting one of his own, Samoan-style.
It was that image that saved the husband's hide last night.
A few weeks ago, I bought an interesting Indian block print tablecloth.
It is approximately 90-inches x 70-inches.
When it came in, I promptly washed it on the cold, gentle cycle and hung it up to dry because of the dyes used and the manner in which it was created.
We have been using it, so when it became soiled, I washed it again, in the same manner, and hung it up to dry partially draped over the shower in the master bathroom.
Last night, as I was piddling in the kitchen, the husband came in with a huge grin on his face. He had just showered and announced: "Did you see how nicely I folded your new sarong?"
"What sarong?" I quizzed.
"The one hanging in the bathroom."
Visions of the tablecloth began to dance in my head.
"Geez, honey, that thing would wrap around three or four of me."
Confused, he drew his brows together.
"That's a tablecloth, big guy, that's not a sarong. Thanks for the boost to my self-esteem."
Laughing, he finally admitted, "I thought it looked familiar. I guess, if you cut it up, it would make a nice sarong...or three."