It rained most of the day one recent Saturday. The sky was gray. The wind was blowing. The moss on the trees in our front yard swayed back and forth, back and forth, with each soggy gust. The window panes were cold to the touch.
And I was in my pajamas ... all day.
There's something incredibly comforting about being in your pajamas all day, especially after you have made the conscious decision to not get dressed, and maybe even announced out loud to whomever is bored enough to listen.
"I am going to stay in my pajamas all day," I announced on this particular morning. An audience of one was there to hear my proclamation. The dog.
Apparently unimpressed, he started to lick his hindquarters. That's what I've started calling it since my daughter reminded me it's not nice to say butt. Technically, hindquarters may not be an apt description of that particular area, but it sounds nicer, so I'm sticking with it. I tried fanny, but fanny just doesn't seem right on a dog.
"I am wearing my pajamas all day," I said again a few minutes later, this time to my daughter who had wandered downstairs.
"I'm not planning on going anywhere, so it's OK," I felt the need to clarify. No need, really. She wasn't listening. She trudged back upstairs.
My, how times change.
I vividly recall waking up late years back during elementary school days, skirting dangerously close to being late. I didn't have time to get myself dressed, so I drove them in my pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. There should be therapists assigned to handle only students traumatized by their parents driving them to school in their pajamas.
"You are not getting out, are you?" my daughter asked every 30 seconds. "Don't drive too fast. Don't get stopped by the police," she said at least twice. Not the least bit concerned about my reckless driving or a big fine, she was more worried that someone would see me in my pink and blue pajama pants with the broken string held together by a safety pin.
They didn't realize how good they had it.
I have seen women in house coats walk their children to school. I have seen women wearing silky pajamas waiting at the bus stop with their children. I have seen bedroom shoes in the grocery store. I have seen ... oh, the things I have seen.
And I completely understand.
My pajamas are not revealing. Quite the contrary. Oh, what is it my husband calls them ... body armor? Yes, that's it. I have nice, little nightgowns tucked away in my drawer and I'll pull them out every now and then. They're pretty, yes. But I much prefer my oversized T-shirts and stretched-out cotton pajama pants or my husband's hand-me-down boxer shorts and a sweatshirt. And let's not forget the socks.
"I am going to wear my pajamas all day," I told my husband when he came in from outside. I had brushed my teeth and even my hair. I do have dignity.
"Uh huh," he said, slightly less interested than the dog. He did tell me my socks were a nice touch. They didn't match.
I think I might wear my pajamas all day again soon. It saves water on laundry. I'm comfortable. And as long as I don't go out ... everybody's happy.
The dog thinks it's a very good idea.
Contact columnist Mandy Flynn at firstname.lastname@example.org.