Most people who work are required to wear real clothes, i.e. clothes that aren’t considered pajamas. NOT ME! Most days you can find me wearing what Husband refers to as my “work pajamas,” not to be confused with my nighttime pajamas. The key here is that I wear very comfortable clothes during the work day, which may or may not be pajamas.
TODAY’S OUTFIT = TONIGHT’S PAJAMAS
pajamas clothes are insanely comfortable and most days no one lays eyes on me but Dexter (our dog) and he ain’t bothered as long as I can throw a stick in them.
Weird mismatching tops and bottoms? Who cares! Throw that stick! An extremely inappropriate outfit I’d have to change out of if my house caught on fire, even if it meant risking smoke inhalation? Who cares! Throw that stick! The holes. Oh, momma, the holes. Do you see the holes? Who cares! Throw that stick!
There are days I get dressed like a normal person, because I need coffee from World Market or Costco is offering killer product samples. Entering the world of others means I step it up. No holes. No mismatching. No giving Husband reason to roll his eyes.
But some days ain’t all days. Or even most days.
Shouldn’t I be comfortable for the long hours of writing I do here? For the long hours of researching with an occasional ~winkittywink~ Facebook/Pinterest/Twitter/Reddit/Drudge/RealityTea break thrown in?
Should I be ashamed or make ridiculous excuses as to why I’m not properly dressed? Or be embarrassed that Husband mocks my daytime attire? Should I be concerned that he’ll wrinkle his nose and shake his head in faux-shock when he comes home at lunch to find me in clothes that could be, if one must label things, the most comfortable work clothes in the land!
I know there’s the whole theory that “you should get dressed to be more productive and profesh” when you work at home. Hogwash, I say! Junk science, I swear! Spoken like someone forced to get dressed!
Sure, there’s the occasional awkward moment when I’m not dressed as one expects. Like whenever the doorbell rings. I scramble, frantically looking for a jacket, yelling HANG ON!
In the heat of it all, Dexter joins in, confused, thinking I must have spied a squirrel (because why else would I be in such a frenzy?!) and he’s charging right next to me, tripping me in the mayhem to find something to wear, so I don’t frighten the neighbors.
When I finally open the door, looking like God knows what, people usually smile politely and pretend not to see the weirdly dressed crazy lady.
Thankfully, Husband adores me, comfy quirks and all. He gives me good-natured grief about my work clothes; I tell him he needs to work on his jealousy issues.
That’s love, baby.
What about you guys who work at home?
Are you dressed in something that says you’re ready to run to Target…
…or are you in your work pajamas?!