Polyester dressing gowns. What the f**k are these things all about? I'm not Hugh Hefner*; I put clothes on after I bathe, and until then I'd like an absorbent tent robe to wrap around my ample frame, not something that traps a moist layer between it and my skin. It's like wearing a used condom beyond the cuddling stage.
Which reminds me; lassies that throw a dressing gown over their jammies and go out to drop their weans off at school. WTF? You'd have been mortified as a child. And they've got the cheek to glare at me when I wear the wife's gown to cover my leopard-print thong Marks & Spencer pyjamas! Huh!
* I realise that Hefner's gowns are probably spun from silk lactated from the breasts of his genetically-engineered harem, but THE POINT STILL STANDS!