Nothing says "I don't give a flying fuck" as to when you step out of your house and into public in your pajama pants. I wish they came with a security tag, much like if you were on house arrest. Once you go past your mailbox, they light on fire. If you are standing on the front lawn letting Bono take his morning pee, that's completely acceptable. But, if said dog darts after a stray cat and runs half way down the block, I'm sorry, but I think you should run inside and change.
The ridiculous sleeping moons or mugs with swirling steam were never meant to be seen under the fluorescent lights of the grocery store. Even the more dignified paisley or plaid prints still scream "I am in my pajamas."
It proves you couldn't be bothered to slip on a pair of jeans that you didn't sleep in last night.
There is a laundry detergent commercial where the lady is going on and on about how she wears her yoga pants for everything - hiking, biking, Pilates. And then, her friend interjects with an eye roll, and the yoga pants wearer confesses, "Okay. I wear yoga pants because I'm too lazy for real pants."
My God. What a travesty.
Let's put a little effort into being all you can be, people. Let's wear real pants!
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