I’m not a fan of sleeping in bedtime attire. Yeah, I know. You didn’t ask for this type of information, and my brain….well….she’s definitely not authorized to share it with you. But that’s how she rolls. I’ve said it before, (look to the right: mobile peeps, scroll down) and I’ll say it again. I’m just typing what she tells me to. Anyway, this is a purposeful segue to discuss the reason why I eschew bedtime garb, and rally the troops. Soon, you’ll feel the same way, and we’ll all be making plans to have a robe, or some sweats, or some smoking, nocturnal fashion ensemble nearby in case we need to get up and do….something.

First, I don’t understand you “one-sheet-as-your-cover-and-you’re-all-good” people. I need weight. I need to feel as if it’s a struggle to breathe when I’m sleeping. Like sleep is a personal accomplishment. I don’t brag about it or anything. I mean, to other people. Inside my head I do. I wake up and say to myself, “Well done last night, Stephanie. Three extra blankets? Taking deep, easy breaths for 7 hours? Chest weight lifting. It’s definitely a thing, and it’s the stuff champions are made of.” Since I’ve got all those covers on, I certainly don’t need pj’s. Superfluous.

Second reason: I’ve tried the pj route. It’s led to epic Covers vs. PJ’s standoffs, the aftermath of which I really don’t care to relive. Neither side wins, but there is a clear and obvious loser. Me. And I’m stuck in the middle forced to reconstruct events in order to extract myself from the intricate knot the skirmish has created. The battle is always related to some intense nocturnal drama scripted by my most diabolical opponent. I’m, of course, speaking of that gelatinous monster residing in my skull. I never quite know what she’s got in store for me when I crawl between the sheets. But it often begins with the roar of a lion. I’ve mentioned the MGM bit before. Her lion is derivative because it always looks a little jacked up, or sometimes, isn’t even a lion at all. It’s a dragon. Or a dinosaur. Or a unicorn. She really sucks at mimicry. You can’t blame her. Her memory really blows. But I’ll tell you this. The monster in my head can whip out an amazing nocturnal drama, and the resulting knots that I’ve extricated myself from have been intimidating indeed.

Third reason: Come on, people. Aren’t you already convinced with the second reason? You could lose an arm. Ok. I have a third reason. Have you seen the options for sleepwear? They can be a bit ridiculous.

  • Let’s all, gently but effectively, scold the nightgown. All versions. Because, listen, those of us who’ve worn them, undoubtedly as children, can tell you that they are potential garroting devices. You may start the night crawling into the bed, ensuring perfect nightgown placement, and then pull the covers ever so carefully up over the nightgown so as not to disrupt your work. This situation will last until you move. Enjoy that brief period of time. Because the nightgown has plans. Plans to creep up to your neck for a proper garroting. Sure, they look so innocent. Do not be fooled. They are torture devices. If they aren’t trying to make their way up to your neck to kill you, then they are executing an impossible to undo without GETTING OUT OF THE DAMN BED ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE?! twist. Wait. I just realized something. This twist is the preliminary action the nightgown performs before it makes its way up to your neck to garrote you. So, it will be a more effective garrote. All those years ago. I never knew. Diabolical! Nefarious nightgowns, beware. We know what you’re about. [Ed. Note: OK. Listen. I know what a garrote really is. And I know I’m out on a very skinny limb here with this tortured nightgown/pj top analogy. Because obviously the nightgown and/or pj top would need an assistant to carry out the actual garroting. And, of course, there’s the slightly important fact that they are made of fabric which is awfully tough to wrangle into an effective garrote. Which is not something I can say from experience, you crazy ghouls. But I saw a garroting in a movie once. It was cool disturbing. It clearly made an impression on me. So, I saw an opportunity to throw some garroting in here. Creative license, people.]
  • OK. All those other options. I’m giving you the stink eye, too. Tops and bottoms. The top is going to end up as a garroting device. They all do. No, I’m not obsessed with garroting. It IS a cool word, though. Right? Am I creeping some of you out? I have no skills in that arena. Or area. I wouldn’t think garroting would require an arena. Not a sport, Stephanie. Where was I? Oh yeah, and the bottoms? You all end up in some form of twist where you constrain me. I hate that. Stop trying to control me. I need to be able to move during the night. Who lies there all night long in the exact same damn position? I’ll tell you who. A corpse. I’m not trying to be a corpse for you, bedtime attire.

Are you with me? Down with bedtime attire. Right? I know. I lost every single one of you. I may have rambled. You’re used to that. But the garroting. It got weird there.

Eh. I don’t care what you do. You know that. But do watch out for those nightgowns. Those little devils are Satan’s minions.

Feed my skull resident...

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