PJ Clash

This morning when the sun came up, I looked down to see a dark turquoise blue PJ top and purple and lavender plaid PJ bottoms. It’s been worse. Today I looked in the mirror thinking, “Why am I not matching? How does this happen?” I do laundry. I put matching shirts and bottoms together in the closet. At 7 a.m. I’m wearing a brown and white diagonally-striped top and green and white flowered bottoms. The boys rarely match, but I I’ve decided I would rather say, “Hey guys, why don’t you go get your pajamas on!” than dress them. Their pajama choice is potluck and I’m OK with that. They are 3 ½ and 6 years old.

I’m 43, waking up with worse top/bottom combinations than my children. But I’ve worked it out. It’s my middle of the night wake-ups. I get up and fumble around for my PJ bottoms. Creature of comfort trait: I never put them in the same place when I take them off to go to bed. If I can’t feel them lying on the exercise bike or over the end of the bed, I make my way to the closet and get a clean pair out, normally without turning on the light. I’m balding and my pajamas look like they’ve been in a train wreck. What a morning sight. Perhaps I could stick to solids and leave the patterns out of my PJ wardrobe. It would help a little. But that would mean getting rid of these lovely comfy broken-in PJs.

Speaking of morning sights, I got my Fed Ex delivery last Thursday. I opened the door, fully dressed – in case you were wondering – and smiled at the delivery guy, not my normal guy. He returned my smile, kind of. Then it hit me. “Oh, I’m sorry! I forgot to put my wig on!” “Thaaat’s OK!” he said cheerfully, sounding a little like Norm from Cheers. Then I looked again at his slightly embarrassed blue eyes and said, “Actually, we look a lot alike!” He was bald. We could’ve been brother and sister. I’d love to know how he is telling the story.

Staying strong, Linda