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Autumn River Leaves

I’m Hooked on PJs

It’s true.  I’m hooked on pajamas, alias PJs, jimmies,  jammies,  jimjams, onesies, or whatever name you give them.  I have summer drawers full of PJs, or what you’d call shorties, nightgowns, sleepshirts, and schlumpy T-shirts.  Whether winter or summer,  I’m in them.

Since I pick up PJs at yard sales,  I truly have an overload of both summer and winter ones.  The nice thing about picking them up at a cheap price, if the elastic loosens in the bottoms,  I cut them up for rags.  Mix and match if my forte.  Both my bed and my husband aren’t going to complain if I mix and match checks with stripes together!

I just picked up a fun t-shirt to surprise my husband, Harry,  one night. On the front of this t-shirt was printed “LOL you are not Harry Styles.”  I checked  this guys name with google.  It turns out,  he’s an English singer, songwriter, and actor.  All I had to do was white-out the Styles name and use a black marker and printed KOCH on it.  That way my husband knows I love him  better than Styles.

My winter PJ drawer is filled with flannel—my skin thrives on this material.  I know for certain I sleep best in flannel.  I also have PJs called “onesies”—you know the kind with only neck, hands,  and feet openings.  I do love them,  but I have one problem—the whole onesie has to be pulled down to my ankles when my body decided to pause for a heat flash!

My hubby and I have a tradition at our house.  If we are home on Friday evening for our date night,  we dress in street clothes for our cocktail time.  On Saturday nite dates, we wear PJs.

I found out that  I’m not the only one who loves PJs.  My granddaughter,  Rebecca, these past years,  picks me up and brings me home after my family gathering at the club for my birthday.  She’s very protective of me and I like that.  She also sleeps over and knows the minute I get in the door,  I change into my PJs.  She must like my PJs enough because she asked me to find some for her too.

I’ve noticed hotel guests like them too.  When we stay at a hotel that serves breakfast,  we’ve see both adults and youngsters arrive in PJs.  I haven’t gotten to be able to do that yet.

Most every day,  after I eat breakfast at home,  I change into my regular clothes.  I change because I like to get my walk in right after breakfast.

Not so on Thursdays—my cleaning day.  I stay in PJs until nearly noon.  The first time my husband saw me in PJs,  a bucket and cleaning supplies in one hand and the other holding a swifter,  he laughed uproariously.  I well understand the first laugh,  but it’s been 35 years now he’s seen me do this, and he still laughs when he sees me.

Last year I decided to give my husband something special.  I invited my granddaughter, Karissa,  over on my cleaning day.  I ordered Harry to the TV room for 10 minutes.  Then I had Karissa take my photo in my PJ cleaning attire,  with bucket and swifter, sitting on the rocking chair.    The photo I presented to Harry for his birthday got a big laugh.  Now every time he sees it,  he can laugh 24 hours a day.

Cleaning Day for Carole

What does a person care when they’re hooked on PJs—even on cleaning day!

Reprint (2017 local Berks Mont News)

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