“I won’t dress,” she thinks, “until I get ready to go out.” After luncheon, she is too tired to go out, and too nearly dead to dress.
Friends come in, perhaps, and say: “Oh, how comfortable you look! Isn’t that a dear kimono?” Madame plumes herself with conscious pride, for indeed it is a dear kimono, and already she sees herself with a reputation for “exquisite négligée.”
The clock strikes six, and presently the lord of the manor comes home to be fed. “I’m dreadfully sorry, dear, you should find me looking so,” says the lady of his heart, “but I just haven’t felt well enough to dress. You don’t mind, do you?”
The dear, good, subdued soul says he is far from minding, and dinner is like breakfast as far as dressing-sacks go.
Perhaps, in the far depths of his nature, the man wonders why it was that, in the halcyon days of courtship, he never beheld his beloved in the midst of a gunny—no, a dressing-sack. Of course, then, she didn’t have to keep house, and didn’t have so many cares to tire her. Poor little thing! Perhaps she isn’t well!
Isn’t she? Let another woman telephone that she has tickets for the matinée, and behold the transformation! Within certain limits and barring severe headaches, a woman is always well enough to do what she wants to do—and no more.
As the habit creeps upon its victim, she loses sight of the fact that there are other clothes. If she has a golf cape, she may venture to go to the letter-box or even to market in her favourite garment. After a while, when the habit is firmly fixed, a woman will wear a dressing-sack all the time—that is, some women will, except on rare and festive occasions. Sometimes in self-defence, she will say that her husband loves soft, fluffy feminine things, and can’t bear to see her in a tailor-made outfit. This is why she wears the “soft fluffy things,” which, with her, always mean dressing-sacks, all the time he is away from home, as well as when he is there.
It is a mooted question whether shiftlessness causes dressing-sacks, or dressing-sacks cause shiftlessness, but there is no doubt about the loving association of the two. The woman who has nothing to do, and not even a shadow of a purpose in life, will enshrine her helpless back in a dressing-sack. She can’t wear corsets, because, forsooth, they “hurt” her. She can’t sit at the piano, because it’s hard on her back. She can’t walk, because she “isn’t strong enough.” She can’t sew, because it makes a pain between her shoulders, and indeed why should she sew when she has plenty of dressing-sacks?
This type of woman always boards, if she can, or has plenty of servants at her command, and, in either case, her mind is free to dwell upon her troubles.
First, there is her own weak physical condition. Just wait until she tells you about the last pain she had. She doesn’t feel like dressing for dinner, but she will try to wash her face, if you will excuse her! When she returns, she has plucked up enough energy to change her dressing-sack!