The Saga of the Christmas Jammies
Listen, my children, and you shall hear ... the epic story of blue's Christmas jammies. Does your family have a tradition like this? My brother and I always got jammies for Christmas from Santa. Santa would come a little early and leave them on our beds so that when we got home from Christmas Eve service, we'd rush inside and discover our pajamas, change into them and unwrap the presents from aunts and uncles and eat a couple of cookies before going to bed before midnight so Santa could come (again). Well, even after we grew older and we stopped getting presents from aunts and uncles, we still got our Christmas jammies. Then my brother got married and my mother determined that we no longer needed Christmas jammies, and I threw a fit b/c I am still the baby and I have no one else to buy me Christmas jammies. So she relented, and bought them just for me. Beloved Older Brother has to get his from his wife. At any rate, ever since then I have wondered why on earth I insisted on the jammies. I have had ten years of atrocious jammies. Stuff that I wear Christmas Eve and that's it. If I even wear it Christmas Eve. My idea of jammies are flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. That's it. My mother, er, Santa, will get me these elaborate get-ups, usually involving dog designs. Now, I love dogs. Obviously. But I am getting on in years. Cutesy poodles w/ bows in their fur -- not age-appropriate. Not to mention that I have never in my life willingly worn pink. I just. Hrm. Last year was the lowest of the low, as she (Santa) tried to go for something a 30 year-old woman would wear. I am still scarred. Lace and paisleys. 'Nuff said. So this year, Santa brought out my jammies tonight and had me try them on and deem them acceptable, several days early. Kills the mystique, but for once, Santa is bringing me flannel pajama bottoms and ... not a t-shirt. Honestly, the top is beyond unflattering, but I can hide a lot of sins w/ a sweater which, considering it's frigid in my parents' house, I have to do anyway.
M always gets good Christmas jammies. Flannel bottoms and a t-shirt. I look at her jammies and then at my own and wonder who I spat on in my past life. My dream Christmas jammies would be Boston Red Sox jammies. My dad and brother have shitloads of Sox pajama bottoms. I have none. Where is the justice in this, I ask you? For 31 years, that's all I've wanted! I have hinted to Santa, but Santa still goes for frou-frou dogs. Maybe next year.
Here, this was a whiny post, have a pic of my dog and the five dozen scones I made today:
M always gets good Christmas jammies. Flannel bottoms and a t-shirt. I look at her jammies and then at my own and wonder who I spat on in my past life. My dream Christmas jammies would be Boston Red Sox jammies. My dad and brother have shitloads of Sox pajama bottoms. I have none. Where is the justice in this, I ask you? For 31 years, that's all I've wanted! I have hinted to Santa, but Santa still goes for frou-frou dogs. Maybe next year.
Here, this was a whiny post, have a pic of my dog and the five dozen scones I made today: