Except for the part where I’d have to check out with them, I almost bought the pajamas in the photo. It’s not a really clear picture. I didn’t want anyone in the department store to see me snapping away on my camera phone. I especially didn’t want them to see me trying to capture for posterity the posterior of penguin pajamas. (I just love alliteration, don’t you?) The scary part, of course, is I’m serious. I really, really wanted the black velour penguin pajamas with the feet in them. Who knew they still made those things, much less in adult sizes?
See, the fantasy part of me — the part that’s so much more real than any real part of me — could see me in those things, cozy, snuzzy, sipping cocoa by the fireplace, yule logs blazing, listening to carols and writing out Christmas cards. Feel free to sigh with me if you’d like.
Sadly, that scenario is pure fantasy — ignoring the harsh reality of short waistedness, estrogen depletion, and not being a size 2. O.K., I was trying to be delicate. You want me to spell it out for you? Hot cocoa, a roaring fire, and a slightly overweight chick clad in a claustrophobic one-piece sweatsuit suffocating from neck to toenails? Washed down with a hot beverage chaser? Are you kidding me? You’re worried about global warming now; I’d have a hot flash that would take out every igloo in Antarctica.
Fortunately, I’m getting better at distinguishing between what I’d like to like to have or be or do or see and what I’d really like to have or be or do or see. I’m realizing I enjoy the idea of bungee jumping, performing stand-up comedy, and wearing one-piece jammies way more than I ever would if I experienced the reality of them. Sometimes, it’s perfectly okay to live in my head. I have so much fun there! In reality, I only hope some size 2 lady gets to enjoy those penguin pajamas.