Youngest daughter gave me a pair of flannel sock monkey pajamas as a sort-of gag gift at least ten years ago. She also provided matching slippers, but those got chewed to smithereens three dogs ago, although I still wore them chewed until two dogs ago.
The pajamas are so thick, they require a drawer by themselves, since my other nightwear refuses to mingle with them. I’ve taken them out countless times to donate somewhere. . . perhaps to a museum at this point. . . but I always end up saving them for one more year.
The thing is, besides the fact that they’re inappropriate for a woman of my golden years, fashion sense, and incredible sophistication, they’re too hot for any human of normal body temperature to sleep in, no matter how cold the night.
BUT, when I get whammed with a virus that flattens me, only the sock monkey pajamas can take away the accompanying chills. Even my Dearly Beloved, who shuns cough syrups and medicines, has resorted to wearing them on such occasions.
I’m talking daywear. Other than perhaps in a cryogenic state, they’re still too hot for one to wear in bed, yet to schlep around from sofa to bathroom to bed during a siege of flu, cold, sinus infection, they’re pure magic. The top has two patch pockets large enough for tissues, nasal sprays, cough drops, cellphone, whatever, all at the same time.
The 2016 version of pestilence and disease in the Lee household struck about the same time the ghost of Marley would have shown itself. It was a doozy. I donned the pajamas, hit the sofa, and settled in for a long winter’s bout.
Dearly Beloved offered incredible support by letting me binge-watch Hallmark Christmas movies without so much as a whimper about all the games he was missing on TV. A prince among men!
By Christmas evening, the prince was feeling pretty lousy himself. His Christmas dinner consisted of my takeout leftovers from the previous week and a slice of pumpkin bread a kind neighbor had brought over, along with a glass of wine. Mine was four saltines and a glass of water.
The pajamas are an indicator of how one is progressing because they become suffocating to the wearer as soon as one starts to turn the corner back to good health. Hah! I didn’t find any corners for five days. The sock monkey pajamas were all that was holding me back from the abyss. Well, those and the Hallmark Christmas movies.
Yesterday, I felt good enough to move into sweatpants. I even cooked dinner last night: Italian-style meatballs and marinara over spaghetti squash. Granted, the sauce was jarred, the meatballs made by the butcher, we had no olive oil, and DB had to halve the squash for me, but that three-ingredient dinner was fabulous.
I may even feel mended enough to do the laundry today. I need to wash those pajamas.
Dearly Beloved is having chills.