After the second sub-zero night in a row I decided no more screwing around: it was time to get myself some serious pj's. My daughter has a pair from Carters' that I found myself envying, and not for the "Cutie pie" picture on the shirt, either. They are made of the most delicious fleece I've ever touched: soft, dense, stretchy.... ahhh. And so warm she doesn't even need her bathrobe when she's wearing them.
That's for me, I decided.
So I went to KMart. And there they were, pajamas made of almost the same material. I bought a pair. I anticipated a night of cozy bliss.
I knew when I pulled them on there would be trouble. The problem was the pants. They have one of those ridiculously low waistlines you see on aging ex-Disney stars.
Never mind the indecency of wearing pants that show off nearly one's entire pelvis. This waistline is the most miserably uncomfortable thing in fashion since the whalebone corset. I spent half the night trying to adjust my pajama bottoms. Either they were too high, tugging painfully you-know-where, or they were too low, leaving half my heinie exposed to the elements.
Who the hell thought of these pants? What fashionista thought a grown woman would even consider them? And I mean grown. These pajamas come in sizes up to 3X. Somewhere in America there are three-hundred-pound women flashing their butt cracks.
What is this country coming to?