sleeping in

I’m a pretty low-maintenance gal; always have been. Someone else might call this look “easygoing” or “effortless.” I call it “haphazardly careless, who-the-hell-gives-a-shit.”

That look extends to my choice of sleepwear. I’ve never been big on fancy nightgowns (hell, do they even call them that anymore?) or negligees or teddies or anything that might threaten to make me appear even the least bit sexy.

Used to be a t-shirt and some kind of pants or shorts. Wow, someone alert Frederick’s of Hollywood!

When the kids are babies, you get out of bed three or four times a night to feed them, so you want to wear something with easy access. Then when they’re older, and they call you in the middle of the night for water, or to check under the bed for monsters …you have to be wearing something. No need to traumatize them by wandering around naked in the dark night, bumping blindly into walls or practicing your golf swing.

But as I’ve gotten older, I find everything I choose to sleep in pisses me off.

Nothing with buttons! Nothing that extends past the knees, because I get twisted up! Nothing that’s even a little big, because the fabric wrinkles and rubs the wrong way! Nothing with seams or those stupid little applique flowers! Nothing with sleeves! Nothing with straps, hooks or elastic! Nothing with a crotch that I have to dig out of my crotch in the middle of the night!

Which leaves, pretty much…nothing. And now I understand what grandmas around the world mean when they advise “airing it out.”