pajama1…According to the Boy Person.  Here’s how it is:  I am one of those people who, the second I get home, immediately strip off my constrictive public clothes and bundle up in socks, an undershirt or sweater (depending on the temperature), and a pair of pajama pants.  I have eight pairs of jamma pants in this apartment alone and they are pretty much the household uniform.  Sexy?  Perhaps not, but damn comfortable.  Sexy is not on my agenda in the confines of my own home. 

Conversely, the boy will return from work and change into a pair of jeans and a fresh shirt, his own “hanging out” uniform which is antithetical to my personal household sartorial philosophy.  “But why are you putting on more clothes?”  I’ll ask.  “We’re at home!”

“Why are you wearing pajamas?  It’s 5:30 in the afternoon!”  He’ll respond.  And so it goes.  Maybe if girl-jeans were typically as comfortable as boy-jeans I would feel differently, but the only pair of “outdoor” trousers I’ve ever willingly wore around the house were the massive, baggy cargo pants I stole from my college boyfriend.  Basically, I want to be prepared to take a nap at a moment’s notice.  Clothing with buttons and zippers are worn for the benefit of other people, but in my queendom, drawstring and elastic are the bylaw.  

On the plus side, the sight of me in my work clothes, particularly a suit, is more titillating to him than any G-stringed lace contraption I could buy.  “Mmmm…”  He’ll murmer.  “Your shirt has a collar.”

All this pajama action eventually led to a “discussion” that has yet to be resolved:  the issue of pajama-wearing in public.  When I mused that I would happily wear jamma pants every day if my office were a more forgiving place, he was horrified.  “It’s a nuisance,” he spat.  “Those people who wear pajamas in public have no respect for others!” 

 This was alarming to me.  Although I am not presently in the habit of parading down the street in my beloved (and holey) purple velour pajama pants with the silver moons and stars, I attended more than one college lecture in a drawstring waistband and have made the occasional Starbucks run in gray sweats and an undershirt.

I tried to reason with him: “I’m not saying that I would go to lunch dressed like that” (I have, for the record).  “Just that if you’re nipping to the shop for a pint of milk and it’s right down the street, and you’re only in public view for a few minutes, I don’t see the harm.”

“Then why don’t you take the extra thirty seconds to pull on a pair of jeans?  It’s just so sloppy and…  aaarrrggghhh!”  Unaccustomed to such vitrolic emoting from my mild-mannered Boy Person, I wasn’t sure how to respond.  While his political opinions are lukewarm and his enthusiasm for soccer wavers, I seemed to have struck on the one issue for which he possesses very strong feelings.

Personally, I don’t see the problem, as long as some basic common sense is involved.  Dinner date?  Not pajama-appropriate.  Parent-Teacher conference?  Wear a skirt.  Taking out the trash or popping out to buy a paper?  Wear those bad boys, I don’t care.  I would be less offended to see someone in pajama pants at the grocery store than I am seeing someone in their tight, sweaty workout gear, and most people seem to have no problem traipsing about in public wearing lycra, smelly sneakers, and those heinous ankle socks I so despise with every fiber of my being.

In this spirit, I emailed him a link to a Telegraph article on the scourge plaguing our planet, entitled “China’s pyjamas police fight Shanghai’s daytime love of nightwear.”  A choice excerpt to sum it up: 

While Mr Guo called pyjamas “visual pollution”, one elderly resident was quoted as saying: “Pyjamas are also a type of clothes. It’s comfortable, and it’s no big deal.”

Aside from the pajama debate, the article also touches upon the perplexing problem of men wearing white socks with black shoes, something I think we can all get behind.  Along with the article link, I included the following note: 

You would approve of this.  And I am going to the newsagent’s right now in my sweatpants and coat for a KitKat bar, so there.

His response:

…”visual pollution…”  EXACTLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
It is horrific.  When I’m in Asda,  I just fill up with hate at the sight of these people.  Laws should be passed, punishments administered, victims (me) compensated.
 
You didn’t go out to buy a KitKat did you?  Please, tell me you didn’t.
 
PS – I implore you to blog about how hideous this is.

So, I have agreed to put it to the ButtercupPunch readers.  How serious is this problem?  Am I too lax, or is he too easily offended? 

 

A final note:  He also called my pink house shoes “grandma slippers” until I pointed out that his own navy blue pair are embroidered with golfers and have LED lights on them.  Feel free to shred either of us apart in the comments, or share your own pajama stories.

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