Pajama People

Thankfully y’all are online and not in person and can’t see me sweating in my Hello Kitty pajamas (yes, sincerely) while I hammer out a guest post on a BIG blog like over here where dear Lotus has approximately 20 million subscribers (roughly the same as the population of Shanghai, you know, over in China and where their city with the most peeps happens to be).

I’ve got some stage fright going, but this is something that must be said. A public service good doing of sorts. And I’m helpful like that.

I don’t know when I was first witness to this exactly, but I’m sure my mouth dropped open while I stood staring (apparently I do that a lot, I’m told, but probably by liars) at the first all growed up adult person dressed in pajamas out in public, and now there are just so many more instances so much of the time. No, I don’t mean just while he wanders to his mailbox for a sec or when she pops out super quick just to get her newspaper (whatever old fangled bit of nostalgia an actual newspaper is – if it isn’t in my reader, it ain’t news or didn’t happen) – if it’s your driveway, it’s your ball of beeswax.

No, see, I mean that there are Pajama People in the grocery store dairy aisle. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? Or in produce over by the cabbage. Toy section and whatnot. Or over in the damn apparel section for crissake where they sell clothing that’s specifically NOT intended for those 7-8 hours that big folks are supposed to sleep (hmm, maybe that’s why I’m such a cranky puss? pass the coffee, wouldja? thanks, bitch.). The damn apparel section where they instead sell clothing for things like leaving your home and going public with your grown up self. All over the place anymore damn kids these days, I tell ya it seems there are Pajama People out and about, shopping like it ain’t no thing a’tall to be wearing fleece Snoopy pants, plus or minus the equivalent of Garfield slippers (not that there is any real equivalent).

I also don’t know exactly what the age limit should be on when you are too old to dress like a toddler in public, but I would assume it ends roughly somewhere around the age when toddlerhood ends. (And technically, most toddlers I see have moved beyond PJ’s, but we’ll go with it.) All you mamas help me out here – when does that toddler bit end? Whatever age that is, that’s what I pick. Everyone else in comfy J’s in public? In violation of a whole list of things sacred, like dignity or respect for self and others and a whole bunch of other… just other sacred things, okay?

Are we really that lazy as a society (here I mean any society using bedware as a weapon) that not all of us can bring ourselves to throw on some damn pants when we go out of the home? I’m not even asking that everyone brush his or her hairy-assed teeth (unless there is going to be smiling or talking close to my nose involved). No need to comb your sometimes sexy (but mysteriously sometimes not so very sexy) tousled bedhead hair on my account. If you don’t smell too very much like last night’s ass or like the 5th day armpit, it’s really not any of my business whether you bothered to put your funk in the tub, or did or didn’t do so with or without soap, but for the love of non-lazy-douchery (that’s for my girl, Lotus, who may or may not be a lazy douche but who is well loved by bunches and shouldn’t be called names), can you please just put on some daytime clothes?

It’s bad enough when it’s the women folk, but we are kind of cute enough sometimes to get away with a whole lot of silliness related to pajamas (ask my dear Tom), but when it’s the men wearing PJ’s at the store, it’s that much more ridiculous, even in the middle of the night at the 24 hour Super Target. Call me sexy or sexist or whatever sex word you want, but I’m a little old school on men acting a bit more like men than like girls. Think post-caveman beating women with clubs or whatever they did with those things, but pre-”way to damn sensitive and turned into some tough woman’s little bitch” and just somewhere in between all that mess of extremes. The grown men in pajamas in public thing kind of shreds any of the aura of “man,” or even just “adult” or of “someone who can be taken at all seriously.” It’s just really not a good thing, for anyone and especially for men.

Not that any of this is really my business, of course, because generally I really do believe in people doing what the hell they want without interference from my whiny assed opinions, even when I think it’s stupid and as long as it doesn’t harm me or mine, but I got nervous at what the future could hold when I saw this statistic:

A survey recently revealed that 25 percent of the population had family members who regularly wore nightclothes in public.

WTF? Seriously? 25%? Oh. My. We are all going to some kind of hell on a road paved with plaid flannel and Sponge Bob stretchy pants. Well, except that it was for Shanghai, you know, the one mentioned above with 20 million people, that Shanghai? Things are a little different there:

Because many homes do not have indoor plumbing, the daily walk to the bathhouse with a towel and a toothbrush in PJ’s is as much about comfort as it [is] about necessity.

They. Have. An. Ex. Cuse. (!) theyhaveanexcuse.

So, if you are whatever age the moms I’ve asked above decide still includes the range of “toddler age” or are in a situation where you do your bathing publicly and outside of the home (which I’m betting all of it on red – because I do love me some Roulette – that this is not the case with the folks I’m seeing over by the canned chili), then fine, you folks carry on with your fuzzy-slippered and pajama-bottomed selves, and I’ll smile and nod politely while you make your way to the bathhouse or wherever the hell to go hose off your stink, as long as you don’t go through the grocery store to get there. It’s all good. We’re cool.

The rest of you just puzzle the stuffing out of me, but it’s kind of nice to have an entertaining distraction at the store (especially since I always manage to pick the slowest line) by getting to see people look completely ridiculous, so, um, thanks for making life a little more fun? Rock on, Pajama People, you suck, and I love to not love you.

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When Maggie’s not scratching her head at people’s bedchamber clothing indiscretions, she writes at her website, Maggie’s Mind. Hop inside her head and look around… she’ll share her life, “piece by piece” and she might just let you stay for dinner. Lucky you.

The shoes are still sitting in the garage, being avoided. *sigh*

Dear Exceeding Disgusting Degenerate Who Frequented the Mens Room At Cracker Barrel:

I am really appreciative of the fact that my loving husband takes on diaper duties for our son when he comes home.  It offers me a chance to relax a little.

Unfortunately, he entered the restroom to change a wet diaper on Monday at some point after you were there.  And he occupied much of the same space that you clearly “used” during your time in the facility.

For future reference: That round, shiny porcelain thing that you were in a stall with?  THAT was your primary target.  Notice how it was just about the same size as your ass (not your face, but I understand your confusion, as you are clearly an Assfacian).  It must have seemed like such a coincidence, I know, but trust me – it is purposeful.  You are actually supposed to place your “dumping mechanism” over that lovely collection bowl and THAT is where you are intended to make your “deposit.”  This is the acceptable way of doing things in our part of the world.

In other words? Shit goes in the toilet. NOT ON THE FLOOR.

The scent of “shit shoe-sole”, even after it has been furiously rubbed on dirt and leaves in the parking area, is not a pleasant thing to a pregnant lady in a car on the ride home.

Please note that your anonymity is the only thing saving your life today.

Sincerely,

One of the MANY people who understand how this whole Public Sanitation thing works.