Reasons to Stop Writing in my Pajamas
Peggy Webb

I’ve been wearing pajamas all day for five days (different ones, since you asked), and I don’t how to stop. But I DO know how it started.
Day One: I woke up to the sound of rain pelting my skylight, and said to myself, “Oh, well, I’m not getting out in that. I might as well not even get dressed.” Since I write in my office at home, nobody would notice, anyhow - except my two fierce watchdogs. And they never change clothes, so why should they care?
It felt great to putter around in Betty Boop pjs feeling smug as the rain drenched those unfortunate people who had to put on clothes and go somewhere. Even better, I had a cup of hot green tea chai in one hand and a cell phone in the other. (You know what I’m talking about. That other appendage. The one you absolutely can’t do without because the minute you put it down, somebody Really Important will call and they might be so disappointed they didn’t get you on the first try, they NEVER call back.)
Day One was a gift I gave to myself - permission to be a slob.
Day Two: Same rain, different pjs. With cuddly fleece pants. Because rain makes you cold, even in summertime. Probably because the air conditioner is turned too low. Still, I was home alone (don’t tell my dogs I said that) and had just finished a huge literary novel (which I’ll tell you about in a future blog), and didn’t I deserve to treat myself two days in a row?
The Fed Ex man who delivered a galley at one p.m. was shocked when I appeared at the door in pink fleecy pjs featuring sparkly Tinkerbells, plus red Betty Boop slippers with pom poms on the toes. But what does he know? He gets to wear a uniform, for Pete’s sake. He never has to coordinate an outfit, wonder whether his shoes match.
And forget about purses. He gets to wear pants all the time and carry a flat wallet that holds EVERYTHING.
Granted, he doesn’t get to sit in front of a computer all day making up stuff…and reading email from fans who ABSOLUTELY LOVE what you made up. Still, he does get to ride around all day in a neat truck that’s big enough to haul every rose I could purchase at Home Depot, plus all the mulch I would need for my gazillion gardens.
I could envy his truck.
But I didn’t because…
Day Three: I got to wear pjs again. All day! Not because it was raining, but because it was now a HABIT. And everybody knows habits are hard to break. Never mind that the postmistress looked at me funny when I appeared at the call window in bright blue fleecy pants featuring leaping lambs and an oversized orange T-shirt that advises, Keep American beautiful. Stay in bed. Plus, I was wearing a baseball cap to cover my lank locks because if you’re going to stay in pajamas, why bother combing your hair?
Postmistress: “Are you sick, Peggy?”
Me, chagrinned: “I think I’m coming down with something.”
Feeling slightly foolish and a bit unwashed, I slunk home rationalizing that writers are supposed to be eccentric.
Day Four: Everybody knows an orange T-shirt doesn’t show dirt, so why bother to change? Just put it on with the cute pj bottoms featuring grazing cows. Besides, it was raining again. Furthermore, if I didn’t crank up the washing machine and needlessly waste all that water, not to mention laundry detergent, wasn’t I saving the environment?
The only logical conclusion was that if I never got out of my pajamas I could save the world. (Aren’t eccentric writers also supposed to be green?)
But just how far can a writer take eccentric without crossing the line and becoming Somebody You Chase with a Net and Haul off Somewhere for Professional Help - or even worse, becoming Somebody the Neighbors Talk About.
Which is exactly what happened on…
Day Five: I ran out clean pj bottoms because I was saving the world by not doing laundry…and I was already wearing the orange T-shirt…and though the rains had finally stopped, I was so exhausted from all that relaxation in sleepwear that I didn’t have the energy to change.
A long nap was what I needed…and when I woke up, a visit to the bathroom…where I proceeded to sit on the throne thinking of nothing…until the BIG snake slithered from under the closet door and covered the ENTIRE FLOOR…between me and the door. I leaped over said creature (screaming), ran through my house (still screaming), burst onto my front porch (now hysterical) and lost all control. NOW I was on my front porch in wet T-shirt, screeching for the neighbors, who kindly dispatched the fearsome snake, then promptly went out and told the story to Everybody They Knew.
Day Six: I gave up saving the environment in favor of freshly laundered slacks, crisp white blouse, real shoes, combed hair and full makeup. If anybody asks me why I no longer wear pajamas while I write, I answer with one word: SNAKE.
This is a true story. Mostly. Especially the part about the snake, who was looking for a way out of the rain, climbed a tree, dropped onto my roof, entered the attic through that thingy that does I don’t know what, then proceeded to my bathroom in search of water. (At least, that’s what the pest control man told me.)
Do you love to lounge around in your pajamas (or T-shirt, wet or otherwise) all day? Have you ever wished you hadn’t? I’d love to hear your story!

Visit Peggy at http://www.peggywebb.com/