Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Pajama Queen

One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know.
Groucho Marx

Tomorrow I have a job interview. I’m not nervous as it has been so long since I’ve had one, I don’t know any reason for worry. But it did occur to me a few moments ago that I should consider what I might wear. No question I should be digging through the files at this moment looking for my college degree (for proof I’m not imagining I graduated.) Also I need to find my passport for proof of citizenship and there was something else on that list of what I’m supposed to bring. Where did I put that list? The one with the directions?

But rather than finding that, I’m looking at my closet. Thinking I should have cleared it out long before now for time to do that will not be on any list I make in the near future. Somewhere in there is a pair of black pants and a black top with designs and a gray jacket. How boring that sounds. If only I could go in my pajamas. Now that would send a message of what I’m all about.

Comfort has long been my mantra. Long ago, in lands far away from Texas, I wore business suits. Panty hose, high heels. Even makeup. But life with three boys didn’t garner me any direction toward the fashion highway and let’s face it, when you’re raising kids, not wearing something they’ve eaten is a mark of a woman who pays attention to herself.

No surprise that on the day my youngest rode his bike to school alone, and I could settle next to my computer with my coffee cup, my style blossomed. Tucked securely away in the warmth of my nightwear and in the writing world, I closed out society, often not noticing the time of day until that youngest son came back in the door from school.

At night, I shopped via catalog for comfortable sleepwear. Warm for the winter, cool for the summer. Only requirement? Thick enough material on the top to hide my nipples from three sons and possibly the mailman if he came to the door with a large delivery. Over time a large collection of pajamas became an established commodity in my dresser drawers. Don’t get me started on how comfortable life became when I purchased a laptop and the bed became my desk. So much room to spread everything out there.

The email/snailmail life made it easy for me to maintain my slug attire. I often found myself sneaking out to the mailbox, hoping no one driving by would notice my working clothes. Although, that couldn't have been any worse than the day I found myself at the office supply store having run out of the house to quickly purchase computer paper. Saw some lady next to me give me the once over and looked down to see myself clad in purple running shorts, winter clogs, and a Green Bay Packer sweatshirt. I stood tall though. I had dressed for the day.

To tomorrow, I sigh. I guess I’ll have to brush my hair, too.


  1. Wishing you good luck on the job interview. I change into my comfy clothes as soon as I'm in the door..

    Thanks for stopping by my blog.

  2. Good luck on your job interview. I like the jammie idea but you might want to wait until you get the job. *wink* I worked from home for a long while. Going out in the world is an adjustment after jammie work. It's all good...just different. I still work from home (in jams) on Friday. Maybe you will get a sweet deal like that.

  3. I know my wardrobe has gone downhill since I've been working from home. If you ever see me looking good on a Monday, it's because I wore the outfit to church the day before.

  4. Pseudonymous High School Teacher, Smart Mouth Broad, and BusyTraveler - glad to know I"m not the only one with wardrobe issues. Thank you for your comments and support!

  5. Since going per diem and not having to work except when I want I have found myself buying fewer work clothes and somehow my pajama wardrobe has grown. The only downside is that when I do have to work some of those clothes don't fit so well or not at all. And all this with more time to go to the gym...Hmmmm.

  6. Hmmm, indeed Ms. San Diego. You think it might be our age? That's my excuse.


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