A few weeks ago, at an airport, I heard a lady instruct her kids over the phone to not use a floordrobe the coming night. A much-needed word!
The next moment, I thought of a 101-year-old Russian poem:
Truly, at last we’re in our own domain:
The clothes, onto the floor; the body, onto the bed.
Go, soul, in boundless dreams
To languish and to suffer.
Vladislav Khodasevich, Dreams, 1917.