I’m wearing a plush, white spa robe. In this robe, I am the personification of the word luxury. I lounge about. I gingerly sip my coffee. I peruse the morning periodicals. I jot down my thoughts. I do these things while swathed in a cloud of superb textile design. In this robe, my unkempt condominium is transformed into an upscale oasis – a high society health club or the spa of a designer hotel. My robe is my sanctuary. Nothing that is low-rent, pedestrian, or less than 4-stars shall pass through it’s heavenly micro-fibers. Was that a highly-paid Swedish masseuse asking me if I would like a refill on my herbal tea? No. It was my cat meowing at me to let me know her litter box is full.