I admit I’m one of “those girls” who tries not to go out in public without looking semi-decent. Don’t get me wrong. Some days I have on no makeup, a t-shirt and jeans. But I do not (I repeat) do not go out in public in pajama pants.
I got home from a strenuous work week, and immediately changed into season-appropriate snowmen pajama pants. At that convenient time, my husband texted me that he was hungry at work. Since his shift switched to the late evening shift, he’d be eating cold leftovers every night if I weren’t super wife who brought him warm dinners. We have a deal though. Any time I want coffee at work, he’ll bring it to me if he’s off work. Any time he wants a hot dinner and not leftovers, I’ll bring them to him. Equally whipped.
I texted him back that I would bring him something from a drive through -not my proudest moment- and that I would text him when I got there, so he could come out and grab the meal. I also mentioned I was in pajama pants, and would not leave the car.
The car keys jingled, the dog raced to the front door, and we were off. I had a new song on the iPod I was loving, “Your Love is Better Than Life” by Steve Fee. I cranked that sucker up, and sang at the top of my lungs how much God loves me. I hardly noticed how it was payday weekend, and the roads were packed adding extra drive time to any distance. And then it happened. I looked down and noticed that the gas light was on. The same gas light that was on when I went to work this morning, when I drove to pay a bill this afternoon, and then drove home. The same gas light that was warning me that the tank was seriously almost out of gas this time, and I’d better act fast.
I was faced with a dreaded decision. Risk running out of gas in the snail-paced line of a fast food joint, or stepping out into public to put a few bucks in the tank. I chose the latter. And to my surprise, no one laughed at me or pointed at me snickering.
Believe me, I promise never to leave my house in pajama pants again, unless it’s past bed time, and I’m just going to take the dog for a quick trip around the block for one last chance to potty.
I will still judge others who enter civilization wearing pajama pants. I only did it once, and it was an emergency. I’d better not see myself in the next GLAMOUR magazine’s “Do’s and Don’ts” Don’t section.