I always make attempts to be glamorous. I would start a new job, and vow to refresh my lip gloss and makeup every two hours. I would set out jewelry to match every outfit. I would carefully put product in my hair and style it just so.
About a month in, I barely remembered to swipe my dry lips with chapstick, I would keep the same pair of earrings in for weeks at a time, and my hair never saw daylight from underneath the ponytail or bun.
It was the same with working at home. When I started working at home, I created a routine. By golly, I would get up, make my bed, brush my teeth, exercise, and make a glorious pot of coffee to start each day. About a month in, my routine looked something like this: snooze on the alarm until exactly 5 minutes before I had to clock in (the time it took to start up my ancient computer and get on the exhaustingly slow VPN). No time to exercise, and what’s the point of brushing my teeth if I am just going to have Folgers coffee? Showering? Meh, optional. Very, very optional.
When I moved in with Scott, I tried very hard to cover up this slovenly exterior, made a good show of at least being showered by the time he got home, hiding the remnants of my cheap coffee in the freshly emptied dishwasher. Well, you can see where this is going. But he married me anyway. A fact which, possibly, he regretted last week when he brought one of his new co-workers for a visit.
I hear “are you decent?” and him walking through the door with company. I look down. Red Sox t-shirt, pajama bottoms. “Yup! I sure am!” I went down to greet them with no shame.
This is not going to endear me to the Suburban Working Moms, but I have invented the concept of Work Pajamas. Maybe invented is a strong word, although they do say necessity is the mother of invention, and my Work Pajamas are a necessity. This is my last vestige of hygiene when I am working at home…I do not work in the PJs I slept in. Yes, they are pajama pants. Yes, it’s an oversized t-shirt. But…and this is VERY important…I did not sleep in them.
I forget the outside world may not consider this the height of hygiene. Not that I think men expect to come home to Donna Reed in heels and lipstick, holding a cocktail while fretting over a roast. But maybe they have the right to expect the little woman to be slightly put together.
Or the right not to have this conversation with their co-worker: “I’d really love you to meet my wife and baby, I just…well, I should warn you, I don’t know what she’ll look like.” I’m imagining a horrified look on the co-worker’s face, thinking he’s already dogging his wife. Is he going to smack her around in public?
Scott quickly backtracks: “No, I just mean…well, she has these work pajamas…”
3 comments:
Ok, I am so using the phrase work pajamas. I've got yoga pants and a drawer full of tank tops I use for the same purpose. I don't like cleaning spit up off of good clothes. I've actually trained my husband (in his words) to call when he's on his way home with company. If I'm in jammies and a ponytail, I look about 12, and I'd hate to have his coworkers think I was the babysitter.
I totally love the concept of work pajamas. It sounds so much more formal than sweats. It's almost like a business suit for working at home. I feel that it is completely your husband's fault. If he had called and given you warning, you might have been willing to change your clothes for the co-worker (notice I said might).
I love that this is catching on! Workers who wear Work Pajamas UNITE!
In defense of the hubby, I think he thought it would make me look worse that he had to call ahead and tell me to put on clothes :) He was carpooling with the guy so there was nowhere to do that quietly that still wouldn't out my work pajamas.
And, honestly, Small Town Mommy, I'm not sure I WOULD have changed :)I wear 'em proudly!
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