It’s a good thing that I am comfortable with my husband; otherwise my new sweat pants may have stolen my heart because they are ever so delightfully comfy. On days that I do not have a bunch of things on my to-do list I revel in dressing as cozy as possible (if I have a lot to get done I seem to move much faster and feel more motivated when wearing jeans). I draw the line at pajamas, and only wear them around the house when I am sick.
Since the summertime I have had high hopes of finding a pair of cropped sweats on clearance because I find that full-length sweat pants often get too warm in a house void of a central cooling system. I was out at a department store the other day for a couple of stolen minutes when I found them. They may be hot pink and have the word “love” stamped across the rear end in lime green, but I couldn’t care less. Why? Because they love my butt and my butt loves them.
Besides, I don’t generally leave the house in sweat pants. But, oh, the rapturous joy! When I need to wash them I feel like Linus from Peanuts when his blanket needed washing. I suppose after a while, when they are no longer new, I shan’t feel the need to wear them all the time. If I should die in the meantime, please note that it is my wish to be buried in them.
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4 years ago