--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Perrins, Glen collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 28 number: 3 published: 1925-01 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Glen Perrins, “A Bathrobe Escapade,” *Improvement Era 28, no. 3 (January 1925)*: 278–279." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2803unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2803unse start_page: 278 end_page: 279 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1925-01) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2803unse publication_year: 1925 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1925, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Bathrobe Escapade A BATHROBE ESCAPADE By Glen Perrins When I hurriedly entered the living-room late one Sunday morn- ing attired in a bathrobe, and to my surprise and dismay encountered two of mother's friends, I thought the embarrassing experience would cure me of my careless habit of appearing around the house "half dressed." But it didn't. My robe de nuit escapade, however, did. "Jimmy," called my mother, "please get up and take your father to work in the car. It's too early for a trolley, and he's too tired to walk the ten blocks to the factory." "Coming mother," I yelled down the stairs. Then I yawned, stretched and reached for my bathrobe and shoes. Something seemed to tell me that I ought to "get fully dressed, but my "bathrobe habit" got the best of me, — I quieted the small voice inside me and hur- riedly stomped down stairs. "Jim!" mother fairly shouted at me, as I opened the door. "You come right back here and get dressed!" But I was too near the garage and father was impatiently wait- ing. "Don't worry, Mom," I answered hurriedly, "no one' 11 see me at this early hour." And then, as she turned, sort of out-of-patience with me, I called, "I'm in a closed car, too. Nobody will ever know the difference. — I'll be right back." The sputtering of an unmuffled automobile drowned out the rest of mother's objections. Father and I sped down the muddy road. I soon made the trip to the factory — the motor hummed along and things went nicely. "So long, Daddy," I said, "don't work too hard today." "Good-bye," he answered shutting the automobile door, "tell Mother I'll be home early." "Okay," I cried, giving the steering wheel a half turn. I was bound for home and a couple of hours sleep before I did "the daily grind." Then the engine began to sputter and "back-fire." "It must be the sultry weather's fault," I thought to myself as I pulled out the "choker." It might have been, for it was starting to rain, but then again it might not, — the car began jerking and jumping down the avenue. Then on Main street, in the middle of town, with a sort of sob, the engine died. Out of gas! Then it rained! "Nice predicament," I muttered. "Stalled on Main street with A BATHROBE ESCAPADE 279 the nearest service station at least a half mile away. — And me in a bathrobe!" People were beginning to appear on the streets, not a few of them were girls. Just across the street were some standing under dripping umberellas waiting for the first car. "Captain John Smith never had to run a gauntlet like the one I'm about to stage," I said to myself, as I tightened my checkered bathrobe about my body. I still hesitated to venture forth, however. I sat still trying to find a way out; an embarrassing moment-solution, as it were. Suddenly I had a bright idea. I had a school penant in the back seat. Reaching quickly for it, I splashed boldly into the street armed with the colors. Of course, I was greeted with loud guffaws from the men and hearty handkerchief-covered snickers from some of the girls. Every- one was staring, but they seemed to understand. Many were sym- pathetic. One girl (I shall always like her) said some of the faternity initiations were "simply terrible," and that the dean ought to punish them — "why, he might catch his death of cold." But I didn't. I managed to get a gallon of gas and to conceal it beneath my bathrobe until I got to the "thirsty" automobile. Then, after a few eager sputters I sped home. What I did catch, however, was a cure for gettin only "half dressed." Today, when I leave the house, I am fully clad. I think that after this, my most embarrassing experience, I shall always do so, even though there be a fire. And, I hate bathrobes! The Mountains The mountains rise high in their splendor, Projecting far into the blue, With crags and large stratas of ore, Green verdure, and pure water, too, The spell of the vast, wooded ranges Lies over the forest and dale; Like a blessing of love to the granges, From angels beyond the veil. The mists now have vanished, and sunshine Is flooding the stillness of dawn; The sentinel's cry of the night time Has faded away and gone. Oh! What is so great as God's glory Displayed to the sight of man; As the mountains unfolding their story To those who will list' to God's plan? Monroe, Utah. WESTON N. NORDGRAN.