|YOU KNOW IT'S THE WEEKEND IF . . . |
I'm dressed like this.
Actually, I put on more clothes
than usual just for you. And the mukluks?
Yeah, I thought those were a nice touch.
Over time, I've gone from wearing comfy sweats to an oversized T-shirt and pants to, well, just an oversized T-shirt.
Because when you live alone, there are no limits. You can walk around butt naked if you want to (although I don't recommend it; when you're my age and you walk past a full-length mirror in the nude, you can give yourself quite a scare).
More often than not, I lounge around all day like this, shuffling from the kitchen to the couch to the wet-bar and then back to the kitchen again. All day. For hours!
And then one day, while I was making out with a can of Pringles and watching Crazy Stupid Love, the doorbell rang. Well holy hell. I just FROZE! I was like, WHAT THE...? I can't answer that! I don't have any pants on!
So I actually had to cower behind the curtains and watch from the upstairs window as a man stuck a note on the door informing me that I had a package and would have to pick it up at the nearest post office outlet. Because I was too naked to accept it at my own front door.
I realize that the simple solution would be to just put on some damn clothes. But the incredible all-day comfort of not wearing pants compared to the rare occasion of a knock on the door, well it just isn't enough of a lure. I suppose I'm making excuses, perhaps even displaying addictive tendencies. I may very well need clothes-wearing rehab. (And then I could bring home a pair of those baggy hospital pants with the drawstring waist.)
But for now, sorry. There's a Jays game, a platter of loaded nachos and one big snuggly T-shirt waiting for me. So if you're planning to knock on my door anytime soon and you have a bad heart, a weak stomach or just prefer your friends to be clothed, I'd advise you to call first.