I remember a time, long long ago, when I was so concerned with what I looked like that I would skip class if I was having a bad hair day.
Once I refused to go to computer programming class because my friend and I were wearing the exact same sweatshirt and the idea of sitting there, matching, was incomprehensibly wrong.
Maybe I didn’t care so much about what I looked like, and I was just looking for reasons to skip classes. Hmmm.
Anyway, back in the day, I was fairly aware of my appearance. I wasn’t a fashion plate by any stretch. But there were certain lines I would not cross.
Clean clothes each day.
At least one shower each day.
Hair and makeup (not GOOD hair and makeup – but presentable) before venturing out in public.
Then I had kids.
And the rules loosened a tad.
Clean clothes could not be guaranteed. But they were still a goal.
Then I started working at home.
And the rules loosened a tad more.
That shower? Yeah, sometimes that happens around 4 in the afternoon.
Sometimes that doesn’t happen at all. Sigh.
There are days (infrequent, but they happen) when it is 2PM and I have to walk the dog and I am STILL in my pajamas. I am the crazy lady in her pajamas at 2PM.
But then yesterday…oh yesterday…I went where I have not gone before. I fear that I have fallen off of a precipice of social propriety and I might not be able to get back.
I had to drive Sprout to school. And when I drive children to school I do not get dressed. So I had on fuzzy leopard-print pajamas, slippers, and my coat.
As we pulled out of the driveway, I realized the fuel light was on. Had been since the evening before. Crap.
My brain quickly attempted to strategize (to the extent that my pajama-clad brain is able to at 7AM – not prime strategizing hours.)
I could run back inside and change. No, then Sprout would be late.
I could drop her off, come home, change and then go back for gas. No, the light had been on for a little while, no guarantee I could get that far.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
So, I dropped her off. And there across the street was an enormous Wawa.
All those gas pumps.
All those people. In actual clothes.
I stared HARD at the gas gauge – willing it to do some cartoon-worthy sproooingg back into the green. But no. Red. So very red.
It’s about 5 miles home. I could make it 5 miles, right?
But then I thought – walking 5 miles (or part of 5 miles) up a major highway in my pajamas and THEN walking into a gas station would probably be significantly worse than just doing the gas station part. Probably.
So I did it. I drove over to the Wawa. I parked on the very end (so I wasn’t actually standing NEXT to someone, although it did make me more visible to any and all passing traffic.) And then I GOT OUT OF MY CAR IN A PUBLIC PLACE IN MY PAJAMAS.
YES I DID!!
I chanted in my head “I don’t notice what anyone else here is wearing, so they aren’t noticing me.” Although the reason I wasn’t noticing anyone was that I was putting great effort into hiding – while pumping the tiniest amount of gas possible so I could get the heck out of there.
I jumped back in the car and headed back home and went about my day as if nothing earth-shatteringly wrong had happened. But OMG – that was a line I really didn’t expect to cross. Like, ever.
And can I just tell you that flashing through my head all day was: Is this the road that leads you to walking naked into a Walmart looking for some socks? Because I so don’t want to end up THERE.
So. Today. I got in the car to drive her again. And the light was on – AGAIN! (Because I had only put in a couple of gallons yesterday in my haste to be back in pajama-appropriate territory.) But guess what. This morning (and probably every other morning until the scarring subsides), I put on CLOTHES before we went anywhere!
OMG… you crack me up! I’ve gone so far as to walk the dogs in my slippers, but they kind of look like uggs so I figure no one notices. I think on some level we are living parallel lives, although I usually slip into sweatpants first thing in the morning just in case I have to run out for something. But I use to make fun of the crazy south philly ladies at Target in their sweats.
I blame it on senility.
Too funny! I crossed my line a few weeks ago when I was about to drop Ben off and realized that I actually had to go in to the school to drop something off. I did it! Proudly, well -ish. I asked the secretary at the desk who was staring at my pajama bottoms (rest of me covered by the down coat), “Do you like my pajamas?” and she laughed and said “Yes! I do!” So the scarring was slight, but when I saw a few nieces from the other side of the family mocking ladies in the grocery store in their jammies on facebook, it jarred me! Because that’s not much a stretch from whence I’ve come…
I am told by my very hip friend that pajamas as outerwear are very on trend in NYC. We are just too cool for the suburbs :)