An opinion, or why I disapprove of your inability to get dressed in the morning

Occasionally I reach a breaking point in life and can't be nice anymore. It's the time when you've held it all in, kept it under lock and key, and told yourself, Hey, everyone is entitled to their own life, opinions, choices, whatever it may be, and still can't ignore it. There are certain things you believe in, stand for, or oppose so much that you can't sit idly and quiet while the world is tainted. I'm never one to shy away from my opinions, and if you have every met me you'll know what I mean. I get this look and tone of voice when I'm ready to bring out the gloves and fight.

There was a time last year during winter when the house I was living in (this cute, old house, bless it's heart) started having some issues. And by issues you know I mean our boiler/furnace stopped burning properly and began emitting terrible fumes, sending them wafting through the house. It wasn't pretty, people. Frantic phone calls were made to the gas company, and mandatory visits were made to the neighbors so we could stay in a warm place for a while and, oh, NOT DIE. After chatting with the gas man, who also gave us life advice, we learned what was being emitted into the basement was beyond the legal limits. About five times beyond it. So, the boiler was shut off, we were given a citation to give to the landlord, and nerves were calmed.

(I suppose this is an appropriate time to interject and let you know in most circumstances, I also happen to be a fiercely loyal person. It's one of those situations where if you hurt my friend or family member, I'll kindly remind you about the old friend I have whose uncle's involvement in the mob is still under speculation. And that he owes me a favor.)

When our landlord finally decided he should make his way over, he promptly told me he didn't smell anything, everything was fine and he'd deal with it later. And right after he made those remarks, I reached one of those breaking points. Let's just say I made my concerns about OUR HEALTH AND SAFETY very clear, with pursed lips and gloves out.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, there's a reason I told this story, because I'm afraid we've reached that time again. Consider my angry voice in use and lips completely pursed, Miranda-style.

I've never been one to consider much comfort in my clothing choices. I wear heels as long as it's not blizzard-ing out, there are metal studs on the shoulders of my favorite dress coat, and I wear black in the summer. Do my choices make sense? No, absolutely not. However, appreciating other's choices is what makes life (and fashion) exciting. If everyone dressed exactly the same the world would be a bleak, dull place.

But world, PajamaJeans is just too far. TOO FAR. There is a limit to the combination of attempted fashion and comfort, and this is it. I protest, object, and every other word you can think of to say how much I am against this new must-have item.

Perfect for the woman looking to indulge her inner couch potato, as the author says, PajamaJeans are the middle ground between wearing real clothes and jumping right into your pajamas. The pants, a cotton and spandex pant with jersey lining, are made to look like jeans but feel like pajamas with pockets and rivets to give the illusion of trendy denim. The funny thing is I know another way to give the illusion of trendy denim: wearing trendy denim.

Article source: NY Daily News

[Disclaimer: I own some great sweat pants and wear them often, but always in the comfort of my home.]

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