It’s My Pajama Party And I Cry If I Want To

This is no secret: I love pajamas. I mean, REALLY love pajamas. If I didn’t care about winding up on the People of Walmart site, I would wear them everywhere. Cotton, flannel, modal, fleece….. love them all. I do have my favorites, but they don’t seem to care. They are patient, awaiting their turn to be donned and appreciated.

Yes, those are wine bottles and glasses on the PJs. Don’t judge me. Anyway, one thing I have noticed is my overabundance of PJs. They are the one item of clothing I seem to overlook when cleaning out my closet and dresser. Ok…. I overlook it because I can’t bear to part with them. But when you are digging around for a set to wear, and find the sets from high school still in the drawer… you know it is time.

So today I will knuckle down, grab a box of tissues, and start to cull the PJ herd. It will hurt. Some of those babies have been my besties through the worst of times, and the best of times. There’s the set that spent time with me in isolation at the hospital, and the set that saw me through the next door neighbor’s fire, and the set that was with me when my brother was born….

He will be 33 this year.

I said don’t judge me!

I better go rip this Band-Aid™ off before I end up crying my eyes out in a pile of PJs like a crazy woma– never mind. It’s too late and y’all know better 😉