Pajammer time.
I almost never go out in the evenings during the week, and I rarely have people over, either.
My sister-in-law would smile (devilishly) and say that it's because I have no friends.
My sister might suggest as tactfully as possible that it's because I'm kind of lame.
My mom would say, with kindness, that it's because I'm an introvert.
My dad would think it's perfectly normal and not comment at all.
My preacher might guess it's because I'm making efforts to avoid sin. (We all know some good sinnin' goes on once the sun goes down.)
It's not for any of those reasons. The reason I don't go out in the evenings during the week is because I can't wear my pajamas out of the house.
My routine is set pretty well in stone. I come home from work, throw my bags down somewhere, and, much to Patrick's joy and delight, immediately go to the bedroom to change into my pajamas. Seriously. If I've been home for 5 minutes and I'm not already changed into pj's, something odd is going on.
A few nights ago, my sister called to ask if I wanted to meet her at Hobby Lobby here in town. She was on her way to Tallahassee to get some stuff for a Pintrest craft party. I was flustered by this for several reasons. First, neither she or I even LIKE crafts. Second, it's an hour's drive for her to get to town to buy supplies for an activity she doesn't like. Third, I was already in my pajamas. Oh geez, what do I do?
I hemmed and hawed for a moment ("Oh, um, well, we were going to be eating soon... Well, no, we haven't started cooking yet, but we were talking about it.") before remembering that I don't get to see my baby sis nearly enough, and perhaps, just perhaps, she was worth the effort of changing back out of my pajamas, putting on some real clothes, and leaving the house. I had to dig out the sweater I'd worn at work, find a pair of clean jeans (nothing worse than putting on slightly too tight jeans after the luxurious comfort of loose, soft pajama pants!) and then worst of all... shoes. Not my comfortable but homely house shoes, but real shoes. We had as much fun as a couple of sisters can have in a Hobby Lobby at 7:30 at night, since we just roll that crazy, but as soon as I got back home I went straight back for the jammers. (I seriously hope you appreciated that, Elizabeth!)
Our friends Thomas and Lynn and their 3-year-old, dinosaur-obsessed ball of energy came for dinner recently. It was fun because we don't see them nearly enough, we made homemade pizza (by "we" I mean Patrick, while Lynn and I chatted) that was super tasty, and Patrick and I got to play hide and seek with the worst hider ever.
"Where's Ricky?!" (giggles and jumps up from his clearly visible hiding spot) "Here I am!"
Despite looking forward to this, I had to tell myself when I got home that I couldn't change into my PJs yet. I had to stay dressed. I was thisclose to putting on PJ pants before I realized they may not appreciate the softness of the plaid flannel and the forgiving elastic waistline quite as much as I do. My compromise with, uh, myself, was that I would wear my 8-year-old Long and Leans from Gap that are nearly as soft and comfortable (and nearly as flattering) as my PJs. No one said anything, but I could tell everyone really liked my choice in pants.
The good news in all of this is that, on those rare occasions when I DO get out or have company, I don't keep my PJs on. Thank heavens my parents socialized me.
The bad news is that those occasions are rare, so Patrick is stuck looking at my baggy pink polka dot pants, my old Miller Lite tee-shirt, and the rest of my super sexy PJs, umm... all of the time.
And we haven't even been married a year yet. Just think how much he has to look forward to once I get comfortable.
Sorry, babe.
My sister-in-law would smile (devilishly) and say that it's because I have no friends.
My sister might suggest as tactfully as possible that it's because I'm kind of lame.
My mom would say, with kindness, that it's because I'm an introvert.
My dad would think it's perfectly normal and not comment at all.
My preacher might guess it's because I'm making efforts to avoid sin. (We all know some good sinnin' goes on once the sun goes down.)
It's not for any of those reasons. The reason I don't go out in the evenings during the week is because I can't wear my pajamas out of the house.
My routine is set pretty well in stone. I come home from work, throw my bags down somewhere, and, much to Patrick's joy and delight, immediately go to the bedroom to change into my pajamas. Seriously. If I've been home for 5 minutes and I'm not already changed into pj's, something odd is going on.
A few nights ago, my sister called to ask if I wanted to meet her at Hobby Lobby here in town. She was on her way to Tallahassee to get some stuff for a Pintrest craft party. I was flustered by this for several reasons. First, neither she or I even LIKE crafts. Second, it's an hour's drive for her to get to town to buy supplies for an activity she doesn't like. Third, I was already in my pajamas. Oh geez, what do I do?
I hemmed and hawed for a moment ("Oh, um, well, we were going to be eating soon... Well, no, we haven't started cooking yet, but we were talking about it.") before remembering that I don't get to see my baby sis nearly enough, and perhaps, just perhaps, she was worth the effort of changing back out of my pajamas, putting on some real clothes, and leaving the house. I had to dig out the sweater I'd worn at work, find a pair of clean jeans (nothing worse than putting on slightly too tight jeans after the luxurious comfort of loose, soft pajama pants!) and then worst of all... shoes. Not my comfortable but homely house shoes, but real shoes. We had as much fun as a couple of sisters can have in a Hobby Lobby at 7:30 at night, since we just roll that crazy, but as soon as I got back home I went straight back for the jammers. (I seriously hope you appreciated that, Elizabeth!)
Our friends Thomas and Lynn and their 3-year-old, dinosaur-obsessed ball of energy came for dinner recently. It was fun because we don't see them nearly enough, we made homemade pizza (by "we" I mean Patrick, while Lynn and I chatted) that was super tasty, and Patrick and I got to play hide and seek with the worst hider ever.
"Where's Ricky?!" (giggles and jumps up from his clearly visible hiding spot) "Here I am!"
Despite looking forward to this, I had to tell myself when I got home that I couldn't change into my PJs yet. I had to stay dressed. I was thisclose to putting on PJ pants before I realized they may not appreciate the softness of the plaid flannel and the forgiving elastic waistline quite as much as I do. My compromise with, uh, myself, was that I would wear my 8-year-old Long and Leans from Gap that are nearly as soft and comfortable (and nearly as flattering) as my PJs. No one said anything, but I could tell everyone really liked my choice in pants.
The good news in all of this is that, on those rare occasions when I DO get out or have company, I don't keep my PJs on. Thank heavens my parents socialized me.
The bad news is that those occasions are rare, so Patrick is stuck looking at my baggy pink polka dot pants, my old Miller Lite tee-shirt, and the rest of my super sexy PJs, umm... all of the time.
And we haven't even been married a year yet. Just think how much he has to look forward to once I get comfortable.
Sorry, babe.
Nothing wrong with that! My favorite is when we have people over, who are totally at home in my house, and I tell them to come over in pj's too! "Please, share in my stretchy comfort."
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