Now Husband Dan will tell you (as will the mailman, random neighbors, Girl Scout cookie vendors, and UPS delivery people) that I am wont to change into my sleeping attire at any hour of the day, as long as I know I’m not leaving the house again. Sleep attire for me consists of an assortment of mismatched and should-have-been-discarded clothing. Bras are not included in the ensemble. Changing into these clothes, in theory, should envelope me in a cloud of peace and serenity. But it usually doesn’t work out that way.
My peace and serenity has been destroyed over and over by the never ending streams of people who wait until I have changed clothes before they show up at the front door. In addition to the ones I have already mentioned, there are the ones who arrive with a clipboard and a look of supreme earnestness. They want me to save the whales, the planet, the Democratic party. There are others who, when I open the door, take a huge step backward (So far, none of them has fallen off the porch, much to my surprise), so as to send the following message: “I may look threatening, but I am perfectly harmless. I will ask you to purchase something you don’t need or want so that I may win some hypothetical contest that will enable me to get off drugs or stay in school or win a free dinner from my probation officer. And, by the way, you should never open your door to strangers.”
Then there are the local high school band members, Boosters, cheerleaders, swim team, and retired teachers. The list goes on and on. When all others have been exhausted, I can count on someone who wants to sell me house cleaning services, tree removal, and/or firewood (Usually after they have charged me for taking the tree down, I then have the opportunity to buy the firewood that I used to own when it was in the configuration of an actual tree.) What all this means is that I spend a lot of time running to the door, clutching things to my chest in a futile attempt to disguise the fact that I’m not wearing a bra and wondering why any sane person would ever want to sell me anything, aside from new clothes.
So I decided to change things. I would treat my down time at home with the same attention to detail that I treat my time out in the world. Then I remembered that I spend most of my time out in the world wearing the same workout clothes and sneakers each day, so that wouldn’t be such a good idea. Instead, I purchased a SLEEPING BRA. Yes, they do exist. My normal bras are designed by the same company that designs suspension bridges. My new sleeping bra has no wires, levers, pulleys. Nor does it require an E-Z Pass. It is soft and comfy but is a definite step up from going braless. I also bought cute, soft, semi-fitted tee shirts and soft, black loungy pajama bottoms. There are no rips, tears, stains, or dried food products on any of them. I look so cute, I can’t stand myself.
Then I waited. And I waited. And I waited some more. Then I started getting pissed off. Finally, when I heard the knock at the door, I sprang out of my computer chair and ran. There at the door was a little Girl Scout cookie humanoid. She was adorable and had so many badges and ribbons on her uniform that she could have given General Westmoreland a run for his money. I was so excited to see her (and even more excited that she was able to see how cute and socially acceptable I was), that I invited her and her mom inside and I purchased 10 boxes of cookies. It wasn’t until she left that I remembered I don’t eat Girl Scout cookies.
This dressing up thing is going to be an expensive proposition.