"I will not wear sweatpants out in public."
Not even if I called them by their more socially acceptable name of "Yoga pants" and not even if they had some creepy and/or trendy name across the butt like "Juicy" or "Cheer!" Whether it's due to their stain and pet hair attracting nature, or in the not so subtle way they announce, "I've given up on life!" all I've known for sure was that I would not wear sweatpants in public. No matter how pregnant I got.
Except, yesterday all of my jeans that still fit (and by "fit," I mean, "I can still squeeze all but the top few inches of my butt crack into them") were dirty. And so were all of my cute preggo tops. And my back hurt, and so did my feet. So, I did what any 8th month preggo would do.
I spent the day in my pajamas.
By 5pm, I still hadn't changed out of the yoga pants and Ryan's oversized shirt that I had worn to bed the night before. To my credit, I had accessorized the outfit with a pair of leopard slippers.
They really tie the outfit together, don't they?
At 5:15, I get a call from Ryan asking if I could pick him up from work. I thought about changing, but compromised by staying in my pajamas and trading the leopard slippers for real shoes. Hell, I was only going to be in the car anyway.
"Hey, Ryan. I'm here."
"Oh. There is a birthday party going on here. Do you want to come up."
"No. I'm wearing sweatpants. I'm still in my pajamas. No way! Err...is there cake?"
"Yup."
"I'll be right up."
And with that, I did it. My craving for cake outweighed a lifetime of sweatpant prohibition. I wore my pajamas outside. In public. To a party.
Since I'm pregnant, everyone still greeted me with the obligatory, "Wow! You look great!" I think I could walk around in a moo-moo and Crocs and still be greeted with pregnant compliments.
"That moo-moo is adorable! Are those puffy paint Siamese cats all over it? How charming!"
Next time, I won't bother changing out of my slippers.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment