Recently, I was digging around on Amazon.com and came across some pink, plush pajamas that had a pony on the butt of them. They had footies and a hood. It was a pink onesie and it was fantastic. I knew at that moment that I must possess this item. My future comfort and happiness depended on it. They were kind of expensive, but the website was having a sale and then Amazon was giving an additional percent off. It was like it was meant to be. I told Will about them. He said, "get 'em!" I was like, "no, I can't justify spending money on myself now...but they do look amazing..." Will encouraged me, "just do it." And so, I did.
Fast forward, two weeks later. It's freaking cold outside, I'm tired. I feel like I've been rode hard and put away wet. I walk through the door and Will had been to the post office. There was the box holding my future happiness inside. I took them upstairs and pulled them out. They were so soft...so pink. They looked just like that outfit that the Ralphie kid wears in the movie A Christmas Story. No bunny ears, but same color. They were amazing. I said a little prayer that they would fit. I would be devastated if they were too small. I slid my feet into the footie part...omg, they even had little gripper things on the bottom of the footies! Saftey AND comfort! Squeeee! I pulled them on with ease, they are actually a little big. I rubbed my hands all over them. It was magically soft. I mean, I was one rainbow and one unicorn short of a freaking out of body experience. I zipped them up and showed Will. He laughed hysterically and we did the obligatory photo shoot so that all of Facebook could see what a child I am. The reviews were kind of all over. The general consensus is that my gangsta pajamas were not seducing anyone and that I would likely never have sex again.
Well, I don't care what anyone says, I love them. I sat on the couch and continued to self discover how amazing the pj's were. The hood, the pockets, the feet that will zip on or off...and then I realized there are holes in the wrist of the sleeves for your thumbs to fit through to keep your hands warm. Are you freaking kidding me? These babies are practically James Bond cool. I soon realized that the couch was not a sufficient area to test drive these, so I went upstairs, just to stretch out for a short time. What happened next would forever change my life.
It wasn't long and the warmth and comfort of the pajamas lulled me into a state of relaxation I have never before known. I was laying on my stomach, sprawled on the bed. I never lay on my stomach, but this position was magically comfortable. So comfortable, I fell into a sleep that was neither truly asleep nor truly awake. I was aware, but unaware at the same time. Will called to me from downstairs, "Baby, are you gonna come down and take your make-up off and get ready for bed, or are you staying up there?" I managed to get my lips to move and muffled into the bed, "yeah, I'll come in a minute." That was a lie, the pajamas weren't going to allow this. I looked at my arm and willed it to move. It would not. I was completely unable to move and the pajamas were completely calling the shots. Will again yelled upstairs, "Baby, come on." I muffled back, semi-conscious, "I can't move." Will came upstairs and tried to get me to move. I could not. I would not. The pajamas would not allow it. I was in a trance of relaxation and the pajamas didn't want me disturbed. I feared the pajamas might hurt Will if he continued his assault on me. I was finally able to roll over, only because the pajamas allowed it, but I could not sit up. Will came back over and pulled me up. He started laughing at me. My hair was a mess, my mascara was all over my eyes, I was a hot mess. I was a hot mess that was half out of it. Will said, "Wait, I need your picture." At this point, all I know is that I was comfortable and now I have been disturbed. Go ahead, take the damn picture. He is holding his camera, giggling and I am going on and on about my pajamas and how I was happy before and that he didn't understand the power of the pajamas.
I finally made it downstairs. I had to take the pajamas off. They are great to lounge in, but you can't sleep in them. I mean you can, obviously, but not under fleece sheets. My God, if I attempted that, Will would have woke up to nothing but the smell of bacon and my skin burnt into the bed. Will says when I wear them that my skin becomes molten lava. Hey, I didn't get these things to lounge on the beach, I bought them to stay warm and they work amazingly well. Like magic. Like nothing I have ever experienced before. They are a gift from God and proof that He loves me and wants me to be happy...in plush pink pajamas. Anyway, once the pajamas were off, I was sure I would freeze to death, so...cold...freezing. I put my pj's over the railing and I couldn't help but feel as if I was betraying them. I could sense they were beckoning to me, they wanted us to be together again. I wanted it, too. Our love was special and it was true. No one else would ever understand it.
The next morning, I wake up and walk past the pj's, petting them affectionately, wishing we could stay in bed together all day. It was not to be. I sat down at the computer and opened my Facebook. The first thing I see, staring back at me, is my face, my messy hair, my mascara smeared eyes and the crazed baby-talk of a mad woman possessed by the power of the pajamas. Holy shit. I was shocked, then mad, then amused, then humiliated. Sweet Maryanne, this thing has gone viral. Facebook is lighting up with people laughing. I go to work and people are like, "hey, nice pajamas." Then, the full force of it all hit me. I was walking down an aisle and Ugly Sweater Girl says, "Hey, I know we aren't friends on FB, but one of my friends posted a video of a girl in pink pajamas and she kind of looked like you and she had the same name...was that you?" I sheepishly said, "yeah, it may have been." Ugly Sweater Girl leaned in, "I gotta ask, was alcohol involved?" The smart thing would to have been to say, "yes, yes it was." Instead, I admitted, "No, I was just really tired. Sadly, it doesn't take alcohol to get that kind of a performance out of me." That is fantastic, my co-workers think I'm a drunk. Note to self, gut-punch Will when I get home. Sassy Pants said to me, "Wow, that is a side of you I have never seen. Usually, you are threatening to kick everyone's ass and keep the order around here. That girl...she was kinda whiny. I can see why Will snatched you right up." Then, later that afternoon, another instant message, "So, my friend just shared that video, I don't know how she got it, I didn't share it with her." The damn thing has been shared all over.
Of all the things I could be remembered for: My over-sharing about Pranx, my boob rants, my 50 Shades of over-sharing, crapping my pants after surgery, my guts exploding, saggy boobs, my loathing of people that drive motor homes, my inability to handle alcohol...nope it's gonna be these beloved pink pajamas. Fantastic. I guess it's okay. I mean, people do want to know where to get them. I could end up being a spokes person for CafePress.com. Maybe not. They probably don't want the crazy pj lady on their website. I'm kind of an acquired taste, I think.
If you haven't seen it yet, go ahead. Watch it. Mock it. Laugh. I think if a person can't laugh at their own self from time to time, that is sad. Life is full of funny shit. Some of it, self -inflicted. I'm proof.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BIYL8DtGrw&feature=youtu.be
It will only be available until someone writes something mean and pisses me off, and then I will probably take it down, so amuse yourself while you can.
Fast forward, two weeks later. It's freaking cold outside, I'm tired. I feel like I've been rode hard and put away wet. I walk through the door and Will had been to the post office. There was the box holding my future happiness inside. I took them upstairs and pulled them out. They were so soft...so pink. They looked just like that outfit that the Ralphie kid wears in the movie A Christmas Story. No bunny ears, but same color. They were amazing. I said a little prayer that they would fit. I would be devastated if they were too small. I slid my feet into the footie part...omg, they even had little gripper things on the bottom of the footies! Saftey AND comfort! Squeeee! I pulled them on with ease, they are actually a little big. I rubbed my hands all over them. It was magically soft. I mean, I was one rainbow and one unicorn short of a freaking out of body experience. I zipped them up and showed Will. He laughed hysterically and we did the obligatory photo shoot so that all of Facebook could see what a child I am. The reviews were kind of all over. The general consensus is that my gangsta pajamas were not seducing anyone and that I would likely never have sex again.
Well, I don't care what anyone says, I love them. I sat on the couch and continued to self discover how amazing the pj's were. The hood, the pockets, the feet that will zip on or off...and then I realized there are holes in the wrist of the sleeves for your thumbs to fit through to keep your hands warm. Are you freaking kidding me? These babies are practically James Bond cool. I soon realized that the couch was not a sufficient area to test drive these, so I went upstairs, just to stretch out for a short time. What happened next would forever change my life.
It wasn't long and the warmth and comfort of the pajamas lulled me into a state of relaxation I have never before known. I was laying on my stomach, sprawled on the bed. I never lay on my stomach, but this position was magically comfortable. So comfortable, I fell into a sleep that was neither truly asleep nor truly awake. I was aware, but unaware at the same time. Will called to me from downstairs, "Baby, are you gonna come down and take your make-up off and get ready for bed, or are you staying up there?" I managed to get my lips to move and muffled into the bed, "yeah, I'll come in a minute." That was a lie, the pajamas weren't going to allow this. I looked at my arm and willed it to move. It would not. I was completely unable to move and the pajamas were completely calling the shots. Will again yelled upstairs, "Baby, come on." I muffled back, semi-conscious, "I can't move." Will came upstairs and tried to get me to move. I could not. I would not. The pajamas would not allow it. I was in a trance of relaxation and the pajamas didn't want me disturbed. I feared the pajamas might hurt Will if he continued his assault on me. I was finally able to roll over, only because the pajamas allowed it, but I could not sit up. Will came back over and pulled me up. He started laughing at me. My hair was a mess, my mascara was all over my eyes, I was a hot mess. I was a hot mess that was half out of it. Will said, "Wait, I need your picture." At this point, all I know is that I was comfortable and now I have been disturbed. Go ahead, take the damn picture. He is holding his camera, giggling and I am going on and on about my pajamas and how I was happy before and that he didn't understand the power of the pajamas.
I finally made it downstairs. I had to take the pajamas off. They are great to lounge in, but you can't sleep in them. I mean you can, obviously, but not under fleece sheets. My God, if I attempted that, Will would have woke up to nothing but the smell of bacon and my skin burnt into the bed. Will says when I wear them that my skin becomes molten lava. Hey, I didn't get these things to lounge on the beach, I bought them to stay warm and they work amazingly well. Like magic. Like nothing I have ever experienced before. They are a gift from God and proof that He loves me and wants me to be happy...in plush pink pajamas. Anyway, once the pajamas were off, I was sure I would freeze to death, so...cold...freezing. I put my pj's over the railing and I couldn't help but feel as if I was betraying them. I could sense they were beckoning to me, they wanted us to be together again. I wanted it, too. Our love was special and it was true. No one else would ever understand it.
The next morning, I wake up and walk past the pj's, petting them affectionately, wishing we could stay in bed together all day. It was not to be. I sat down at the computer and opened my Facebook. The first thing I see, staring back at me, is my face, my messy hair, my mascara smeared eyes and the crazed baby-talk of a mad woman possessed by the power of the pajamas. Holy shit. I was shocked, then mad, then amused, then humiliated. Sweet Maryanne, this thing has gone viral. Facebook is lighting up with people laughing. I go to work and people are like, "hey, nice pajamas." Then, the full force of it all hit me. I was walking down an aisle and Ugly Sweater Girl says, "Hey, I know we aren't friends on FB, but one of my friends posted a video of a girl in pink pajamas and she kind of looked like you and she had the same name...was that you?" I sheepishly said, "yeah, it may have been." Ugly Sweater Girl leaned in, "I gotta ask, was alcohol involved?" The smart thing would to have been to say, "yes, yes it was." Instead, I admitted, "No, I was just really tired. Sadly, it doesn't take alcohol to get that kind of a performance out of me." That is fantastic, my co-workers think I'm a drunk. Note to self, gut-punch Will when I get home. Sassy Pants said to me, "Wow, that is a side of you I have never seen. Usually, you are threatening to kick everyone's ass and keep the order around here. That girl...she was kinda whiny. I can see why Will snatched you right up." Then, later that afternoon, another instant message, "So, my friend just shared that video, I don't know how she got it, I didn't share it with her." The damn thing has been shared all over.
Of all the things I could be remembered for: My over-sharing about Pranx, my boob rants, my 50 Shades of over-sharing, crapping my pants after surgery, my guts exploding, saggy boobs, my loathing of people that drive motor homes, my inability to handle alcohol...nope it's gonna be these beloved pink pajamas. Fantastic. I guess it's okay. I mean, people do want to know where to get them. I could end up being a spokes person for CafePress.com. Maybe not. They probably don't want the crazy pj lady on their website. I'm kind of an acquired taste, I think.
If you haven't seen it yet, go ahead. Watch it. Mock it. Laugh. I think if a person can't laugh at their own self from time to time, that is sad. Life is full of funny shit. Some of it, self -inflicted. I'm proof.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BIYL8DtGrw&feature=youtu.be
It will only be available until someone writes something mean and pisses me off, and then I will probably take it down, so amuse yourself while you can.
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