Life … You Gotta Love It!
By Margo Oxendine
Pajamas play a big part in my life. I have two drawers stuffed with pajamas. I have more pajamas than t-shirts, certainly more than shorts (only one pair of those, which I never dare to wear anywhere but my porch … maybe), more than jeans. The only thing I may have an equal number of is sweatpants. I am not wearing those these days, although they were my go-to “outfit” during the quarantine.
There are, of course, winter and summer pajamas. It’s the summer pajamas for which I’m especially grateful. They are the coolest, lightest “clothes” I have when it’s too hot to want to wear anything.
Since I am not one to relish sitting around naked, I am usually in pajamas. I put them on as soon as I come home, if I’ve had to go out in public for any reason. If I do not have to go anywhere, I have actually worn pajamas all day. They are cool and comfortable and, well, as cute as they can be.
I have never gone to, say, Walmart, in my pajamas. And frankly, I’m astounded at the number of people who think they are suitable attire for slumping around in public. I can’t count the number of people in dingy pajamas I’ve seen in Walmart. I steer clear of the Pajama People. They sort of give me the creeps.
I guess I should confess that I did indeed wear pajamas in public once. A friend and I were in West Virginia for a zip-lining adventure. We were staying at a wonderful place called Hawk’s Nest State Park. Great hotel, with a great restaurant on the top floor, overlooking the lush New River Valley.
The zip lining adventure was way more than I’d bargained for. It was actually the longest, most arduous, and fear-filled day of my life. It was grueling. It might be considered fun, if you didn’t count the fact that I was crying off and on throughout the ordeal, and sometimes shaking and quaking.
When it finally ended, we headed back to the hotel. It was time for dinner. I was hot, and still a little shaky, and hurting all over in many vague ways.
I had bought a really cute new pair of pjs for the trip. And I decided to wear them to dinner. Maybe, other diners might think it was a matching outfit? And, if they recognized they were pajamas, so what, really?
Last Friday I was sitting on my porch in the 85-degree blazing weather. I was wearing hot pink pajamas. The phone rang. It was a Code Red Alert warning all in Bath to be on the lookout for a wanted woman who’d escaped police while wearing a pink nightgown.
Now, that’s rather a noticeable thing. Yet, as of yesterday, she still was on the run.
I looked down at my hot pink pajamas. The escape happened near my house. I knew a load of police and even the K-9 deputy were beating the bushes looking for a woman in a bright pink nightgown. So, I figured I’d better change: The police, and a serious dog, might show up at any moment.
For that matter, the escaped woman herself may show up at my place. I locked my doors, changed my attire, and kept a close eye on the driveway for a flash of hot pink.
When no one showed up, I put my cool pjs back on and continued reading on the porch.
Pajamas … yo
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