Flannelgeddon
This is a combination boast and confession: I wore my pajama pants home from the gym.
I knew this was a choice that would hurt my dear husband's heart, but I did it anyway. I simply couldn't see the point in dressing in "street" clothes after working out at the gym and taking a shower, just to drive home and immediately change into my pajamas as soon as I got the dogs fed. Maybe if it was summer I would have made the effort, but choosing and transporting and changing into winter clothes is quite an undertaking. Plus, because it was winter, I had the added justification that I was wearing my big stadium coat so all anyone could see of my outfit was my legs from below my knees.
Now since I was wearing my pink flannel pajamas with owls on them, what was visible of my outfit was rather conspicuous. But hey, these were my "dress" pajamas. These flannel pants are one of the most expensive items of clothing I own. I love them deeply, and even bought them at that very Lifetime. Thanks to that Lifetime, I now own THREE pairs of overpriced flannel pajama pants from PJ Salvage, acquired with the justification that they bring me such joy and fit so well and are soo soft and I wear them so much and the cats like to sit on them....clearly these are pajama pants worthy of a trip home from the gym.
Or not. I think the world may be divided into two camps: people who will wear pajamas out in public (sweatpants are a subcategory and generally less offensive subcategory) and those who think doing so will trigger armageddon (or a presidential victory by Trump). Clearly I'm in the first camp, while Chad firmly belongs to the All-of-the-Horsemen-of-the-Apocalypse-Wore-Pajamas contingency. And yet we've stayed together for over twenty years. I guess true love does exist.
We all have STANDARDS. Rules that we live by that don't necessarily make rational sense but seem vitally important. We have this feeling, this fear, that if we violate these rules it will be the first start down a slippery slope that will lead to ruin and decay. We might not even be aware of these STANDARDS because they seem so obvious until someone (and Heaven forbid that someone is a dear loved one) violates these STANDARDS.
Some of these standards we seem to be born with and some develop over time. A standard of mine that makes no sense is my loathing for folding clothes if they are inside out. I can live with piles of unfolded laundry strewn about the house, but folding something that's inside out? A recent standard I've developed is my quest to eradicate all double-spacing between sentences in any writing I edit at work. ARGH. JUST. NO.
My mother was a woman of high standards and I admire her for them. She almost always wore a girdle and ironed her t-shirts. I don't know if this was the cause or the symptom, but she she always seemed very in control and in charge.
I can see how wearing pajamas in public can be a sign that you've just given up, (I'm sure my mother would not approve, even if the pajamas were ironed and one was wearing a girdle) but under the right circumstances, I think it's empowering. You are a free, unencumbered, un-selfconscious, time-saving and comfortable rebel. Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating wearing pajamas to work or trivia or church or on a Target run...well, unless it's a short run and rather late at night...
I knew this was a choice that would hurt my dear husband's heart, but I did it anyway. I simply couldn't see the point in dressing in "street" clothes after working out at the gym and taking a shower, just to drive home and immediately change into my pajamas as soon as I got the dogs fed. Maybe if it was summer I would have made the effort, but choosing and transporting and changing into winter clothes is quite an undertaking. Plus, because it was winter, I had the added justification that I was wearing my big stadium coat so all anyone could see of my outfit was my legs from below my knees.
Now since I was wearing my pink flannel pajamas with owls on them, what was visible of my outfit was rather conspicuous. But hey, these were my "dress" pajamas. These flannel pants are one of the most expensive items of clothing I own. I love them deeply, and even bought them at that very Lifetime. Thanks to that Lifetime, I now own THREE pairs of overpriced flannel pajama pants from PJ Salvage, acquired with the justification that they bring me such joy and fit so well and are soo soft and I wear them so much and the cats like to sit on them....clearly these are pajama pants worthy of a trip home from the gym.
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| Yes, I am!! Out in public! |
Or not. I think the world may be divided into two camps: people who will wear pajamas out in public (sweatpants are a subcategory and generally less offensive subcategory) and those who think doing so will trigger armageddon (or a presidential victory by Trump). Clearly I'm in the first camp, while Chad firmly belongs to the All-of-the-Horsemen-of-the-Apocalypse-Wore-Pajamas contingency. And yet we've stayed together for over twenty years. I guess true love does exist.
We all have STANDARDS. Rules that we live by that don't necessarily make rational sense but seem vitally important. We have this feeling, this fear, that if we violate these rules it will be the first start down a slippery slope that will lead to ruin and decay. We might not even be aware of these STANDARDS because they seem so obvious until someone (and Heaven forbid that someone is a dear loved one) violates these STANDARDS.
Some of these standards we seem to be born with and some develop over time. A standard of mine that makes no sense is my loathing for folding clothes if they are inside out. I can live with piles of unfolded laundry strewn about the house, but folding something that's inside out? A recent standard I've developed is my quest to eradicate all double-spacing between sentences in any writing I edit at work. ARGH. JUST. NO.
My mother was a woman of high standards and I admire her for them. She almost always wore a girdle and ironed her t-shirts. I don't know if this was the cause or the symptom, but she she always seemed very in control and in charge.
I can see how wearing pajamas in public can be a sign that you've just given up, (I'm sure my mother would not approve, even if the pajamas were ironed and one was wearing a girdle) but under the right circumstances, I think it's empowering. You are a free, unencumbered, un-selfconscious, time-saving and comfortable rebel. Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating wearing pajamas to work or trivia or church or on a Target run...well, unless it's a short run and rather late at night...
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