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Keep Those Paws Off My Pajamas

by Diane Girard

There are many kinds of sleepwear for women, perhaps too many. We can choose from long and short nightgowns, long and short pajamas, and wispy things that hide nothing. Some folk like to sleep in the nude and certainly there are times when thats fun. But for a good nights rest in the wintertime, especially when sleeping alone, I recommend and wear sturdy flannelette pajamas. My problem arose when my favourite pair became too thin and I needed to replace them. Oh, if only that was a simple task!

I am not usually a demanding woman, but there are pajamas I will not wear. Im sorry if I offend anyone, but I no longer buy the ones with critters on them. I have tried — but the animals disturbed me. I woke up in the middle of the night, wondering if I had crushed the wee things. And their tiny paws left weird marks on my body, which stayed for hours. I dont need wrinkles in strange places. I have a sufficient number already. Besides that, critters are entirely too cute and dont suit my somewhat grumpy personality. I do not want to wear pink frilly nightwear either (not that theres anything wrong with that) because then I feel silly, as if Im stuck in a time warp at a pajama party. If I wish to feel young and sprightly, there are sometimes other activities available.

Am I too picky? I also object to sleeping attire adorned with hundreds of tiny florets, because I am not a size six. Too many flowers make me look like a meadow. And, its discombobulating to see them moving about in the bathroom mirror, first thing in the morning. I have enough trouble remembering who I am before I inhale my coffee. You can see my dilemma.

I set off on my journey with hope, although experience had shown hope to be an unreasonable emotion. I searched the major department stores first, but could not find what I wanted. Then I tried some of the discount stores, the ones not on the lowest retail rung. I found a veritable jungle of cats, teddy bears, dogs, and even lions inhabiting all the nightwear. I began to wonder who had started that trend and where I could find the culprit. For a moment, I considered starting a protest movement since change is our friend, but I suspected I would be the only one to join the cause. And, who knows, maybe there is a pajama animals union? I am in favour of unions and do not wish to make trouble.

After visiting several stores, I was tired and weak-willed. I almost fell for a pair of alluring grey silk pajamas that called out to me from a lighted shop window. But, they had a company logo on the breast pocket (I am opposed to logos as a matter of principle) and they were too slick, too cool. They would highlight all my lumpy parts, my more-ness. I turned away from them and plodded on.

There was only one store left to visit — a place where piles of whatnots could tumble down on my head at any moment. There, jammed in amidst the bell-bottomed jeans and extra-large sweatshirts with outdated slogans on them, lurked a pair of forest green plaid pajamas. I couldnt see them properly so I tried not to be too optimistic, but my heart thumped. After I had scraped my fingers on several metal hangers and removed a few sweatshirts, I had them in my hands. I looked at the tag. They were the right size and one-hundred percent cotton flannelette. I could hardly believe it. Naturally, they were the only pair in the place and I hurried to pay for them so I could go home and rejoice.

But my celebration was woefully short. When I got home and opened my mail, I found a gift certificate to an adult lingerie store from my very dear friend. I suspect I cannot use it to buy more flannelette pajamas. The job ahead wont be an easy one — not for me anyway. A lot of sexy intimate apparel is either fiery red or inky blue-black and those colours dont flatter me. In my experience, such garments need to be hand-washed before wearing in order to soften the fabric, lest it prickle my skin and leave those marks I detest. But washing them is fraught with hazards too. The colours can run, the stitching can and probably will pucker, if you look at it sideways. And, although the tag might say one-hundred percent polyester, the darn things can shrink.

I know these things because they have all happened. The evidence is buried in my closet. Then theres the size issue. Im not quite Rubenesque (come back from the ether Rubens, we need you to praise us) but the thought of wearing see-it-all lingerie has me picturing a television reporter saying writer caught in clothing disaster, film at eleven. Still, I cannot deny my very dear friend the pleasure of viewing me through something scandalously sheer which he will likely remove within two minutes.

A new adventure awaits.

©2009 Diane Girard for SeniorWomenWeb


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