Life In My Jammies

Stole this from the internet the other day, remembering the days when I had to think about what to wear to school/work/bar/parties.

There is a special joy I get from wearing "yesterday pants." What are Yesterday Pants? Glad you asked. The pants you wore yesterday that nobody saw you in so you wear them again today because they were the ones you didn't have to go in the closet for.

Those days are over.

Keep in mind that I'm 75 and at one time would not have dreamed of leaving the house without eye makeup and curled hair, not to mention something attractive-ish to wear. I've metamorphed. A few years ago, I decided that all I really needed in my closet were a couple different colors of sweat pants, with tee-shirts and/or sweatshirts to match-ish. Oh, I kept a couple of fancy things for dress-up – the bar is no longer a daily, even weekly, routine, but sometimes there’s a birthday or a memorial. I cut the number of parties down to four per year. That decision made mornings quicker and easier. Goodbye “yesterday pants,” hello sweatpants of the week.

Not much later, I found it much easier to pull the sweatpants on over my jammie bottoms. I only changed out of the jammies altogether to do errands.

In the meantime, I had also discovered that eye makeup could no longer be part of my daily routine. Eye makeup requires a sure hand and no glasses. My hand was sure enough but without my glasses I couldn’t see my eyes and just try putting on eyeliner while wearing glasses. By this time I was nearing 70, and while ego was still squeaking to be heard, I made a rash decision. You’re an old lady now, just get used to it. Goodbye, eye liner. Goodbye, too, permed hair, hello sensible wash and run haircut. Who wants to face old age looking like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

Baby Jane.jpg

It took a while for me to get over myself, but I can honestly say that I don’t think anybody even noticed. To my friends, I still looked like me. So then, I had to get over them recognizing this new, obviously much older (practically dead) me, as really me. To them, I hadn’t changed at all.

But I did it. By the time I left Seattle, I had long forgotten to even check the mirror before I left the house. I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam. And life went on just as it ever had.

So, here I am in Madison, WI. Sweat pants are not suggested for summer days, even in an air-conditioned house. It’s 1:43 on a July Sunday afternoon, and I am still in my jammies. I’ll pull a pair of slacks over them to take a short walk after dark tonight with fireflies lighting my way. Nobody, least of all me, gives a shit.

Yesterday’s pants do perfectly well for today, tonight, and probably tomorrow. When you’re 75, you can pretty much do as you like. I like writing and reading and crossword puzzles and jigsaws and video games. None of those things requires a change of clothes. I love living life in my jammies.