No matter what time of the day, no matter the season, life is simply better in pjs.
Summer break is notoriously the worst offender. Sometimes I don’t even realize several days have passed since I’d last gotten out of my pajamas.
And there are definitely some lazy days when my boys and I just lounge around, eating animal crackers for breakfast and root beer floats for lunch.
I might need to get out more.
I do go outside every afternoon to get the mail. Occasionally, I even go to the trouble of putting on a more decent top or bottom to do so.
Then I get pissed if the mailbox is empty. All that ordeal for nothing.
But it’s like that saying, put on your good underwear in case you get in an accident and end up in the hospital.
I mean, do I really want to take that chance of stepping outside in my pjs and getting plowed down by the garbage truck?
Talk about crappy luck.
But I still do it anyway.
It doesn’t even matter what time of the day it is. Some mornings I get dressed, take the kids to school, and immediately slip right back in to my pajamas.
Come to think of it, I often do the exact same thing on weekends, after getting home from work at noon.
Oh well. Comfort is so underrated.
And yet, it clearly comes at price.
Here’s a fun flashback from last August:
The Hotel Incident
After a late start this morning, I really needed coffee. Badly. So I decided to take my chances and stumbled into the hotel lobby in my pjs- hot pink penguin shorts and a thin tank top- only to walk right in to a business meeting in progress.
The room fell completely silent for a moment, and I figured it was already too late to turn back, so I proceeded to pour my coffee nonchalantly before strolling back out, like this was perfectly normal.
Once bitten, twice shy?
I had another similar experience last Friday.
The Mailman Incident
It’s 9:30 am, and I look out the window to make sure nobody is around before stepping outside in a semi-sheer pajama top and jeans to empty the bin of recyclables and drop a handful of mail into my mailbox.
I fling open the front door and gasp in disbelief. The mailman is practically sprinting toward my door, unassumingly approaching the house with a package.
Oh no! He’s spotted me! It’s too late to run back inside and slam the door shut. And judging by his momentary pause, he’s equally taken off guard by my bedhead and/or lack of appropriate clothing.
I make a quick grab for the package. The flustered mailman actually has to ask me if I planned on mailing those letters clenched in a death grip in my left hand.
I’m sure this, too, passes for perfectly normal human conduct. In some other part of the universe, perhaps.
I could make this stuff up, that’s true. But I don’t have to.
I have a knack for experiencing these things first hand.
At least there is a silver lining in all this!
If I am in pajamas, then I don’t get out (or go very far past the driveway, anyway.) And if I don’t get out, surely I’m saving money on gas and other unnecessary expenses.
That’s got to count for something.
4 thoughts on “Life’s a Pajama Party”
You are brave for sure, ’cause I won’t even dare open my front door to pour water on my dying plants if I’m on my PJ’s. I need an invisible cape like “Wonder Woman’! 😉
I’m either brave or crazy, Muriel! On the positive side, it definitely makes life more exciting, living on the edge like that. 😀
You have a very lucky mailman.
I love your optimism, Natalie! I figured the poor guy was probably traumatized after that bizarre interaction. 😀