You Never Outgrow Comfort
When I was a child, I held fast to nearly as many oddities as I do as an adult. My desire to wear pajamas until they resembled a collection of loose threads meant one certainty: my pajamas were comfortable and soft from the wear. While I cannot recall the fate of my favorites, I expect my mother threw them in the trash when it became difficult to distinguish them from the collection of colors she peeled off the lint screen. And not just one pair – I would wear pajamas that did not adhere to strict sizes so that I could easily wear them out before growing out of them.
As an adult, pajamas might be the one area where I still, perhaps, hang on to my clothes past the point of departure. I tend to replace them with greater frequency, but that’s a sliding scale that I tip to the far end. Most of my favorite pajama tops are simply t-shirts that are no longer allowed to be worn in public. In fact, a barely recall moments when I deliberately visited a store (or online merchant, let’s be honest) to purchase pajamas. Old sweat pants, like old t-shirts, will do. I am better than the single oversized shirt that I wore night after night until it finally gave its last thread, but not by much.
Hiding In Plain Sight
Whoever invented pink camouflage obviously thought they were placating women. Traditional camouflage may hide one in the wilderness. The pink counterpart will hide nothing, which may be why I bought this particular pair at Yellowstone National Park – or was it Glacier – highlighted with silhouettes of bull moose. I called them, appropriately, “camooseflage.” Lightweight and comfortable, they quickly made their way into the pajama rotation, getting worn at least weekly, if not more often. But so what – why would a grown woman be attached to a pair of pajamas, regardless of their excessive adorableness?
These pink pants inspired my creative juices and clothed a character who would make her way into my first novel. Much like the pair belonging to the original owner, the fictional bottoms never intended to be viewed by outsiders, yet on a completely unexpected excursion Into The Forest they became a conversation piece. The obnoxious pink print wove their way, threadbare as they may have been, into the life of Natalie, and she drew breath, and occasionally found it taken away, while decked in those pink patterned PJs. Like many objects, the colorful clothing left my life, but not before leaving a mark on my muse.