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 also 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.  I was sitting behind a huge mound of laundry, so 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.



                              Coming Soon! Nightwear.... Granny style!