In my first column in a few weeks, I considered writing about the government shutdown and how tired I am of the political brinkmanship that has paralyzed Washington and how other countries are wondering what the heck we’re doing.
Naw, Congress doesn’t need any consideration from me. Those people don’t represent my interests anymore. I’m not going to vote for any of them, so there’s no use raising a finger to type anything about them. Well, maybe raising just the middle finger will suffice.
I was going to write something nice about our own Mitch McConnell after he used his immense political skills to jump into the breach and work out a compromise to end the shutdown.
Naw, that was Mitch just doing the job we elected him to do. He doesn’t get any positive ink because it’s been his leadership of the Party of No and his tireless, though unsuccessful, efforts to make Barack Obama a one-term president that contributed greatly to the poisonous atmosphere in Washington.
I’m going to write about something near and dear to my heart and something extremely important to me this time of year: fuzzy pajama pants.
When the temperatures get below freezing, it’s time to break out my favorite heavy sweater with the old paint stains and the burn holes from escaped pipe tobacco embers. Combine that with fleece-lined pajamas, insulated socks and a pair of cushy Dearfoams and my winter attire is complete.
When I come home from a long day at work in the winter, the first thing I do is slip into my warm, comfy clothes. The house is always cold, thanks to a menopausal wife who controls the thermostat with the help of guard dogs, a perimeter fence and a cattle prod. I can’t touch it to get a little heat going, so I just bundle up.
I leave the clothes in a bundle on the dresser so I have easy access to them each evening. There’s no sense washing them every day, but Mary occasionally will scoop them up and send them through the laundry. I believe she determines when to do so by smell.
There’s nothing sexy about my evening attire at home in the winter. It’s dark, heavy sweaters and pajamas and pillows on my feet. I just want to be comfortable. I’d freeze to death in a Hugh Hefner bathrobe.
But I’m sure I’m not the only one who garbs up when the temperatures fall. Most people like to wear comfy clothes when there’s nothing to do but stay indoors for hours at a time. I’ve thought seriously about getting one of those full-body Snuggies to compliment my fuzzy pajamas. Or maybe cut some arm holes in a sleeping bag.
Perhaps I should start a website called “Lounge Lizards” and solicit photos of people in their winter garb. It would be highly entertaining, just like the “People of Walmart” site that shows people out in public in ridiculous clothes, or very little at all. No, I have never been to Walmart in my fuzzy pajamas. That view of me is not for public consumption.
But I don’t care what I look like in the confines of my own home. It makes the long, cold winter months, and the interminable political bickering on TV, just a little more bearable.
Willie Sawyers is the publisher of the Times-Tribune. He can be reached at email@example.com