Aaron Gouveia is locked in a debate for the ages with his wife, all about the appropriateness of wearing pajama pants outside of the house
Marriage ain’t easy, and my wife and I have been through more than our fair share of rough spots.
Pregnancy, not being able to get pregnant, multiple miscarriages, dealing with abortion protesters, financial hardships, mental health issues, and the Great Hershey Bar War of 2009 are just some of the bullcrap my wife MJ and I have endured in our eight years of marriage.
But now we face a much bigger—and completely unexpected—problem which is currently threatening to tear us apart.
Pajamas at the bus stop.
Now that I work from home three days a week, I get to take care of the kids in the morning before work. Part of that is getting to put my son Will on the bus to school. One of the best perks of working from home is not having to get dressed up for the office, which is really just a way of saying I get to stay in my pajamas on my couch while I’m at work. Yes, it’s as glorious as it sounds.
But, about a month ago, MJ finally had enough.
She told me she is HORRIFIED that I go out to the bus stop in my pajama pants. Because it’s trashy. And because I do it, I’m trashy. Also, apparently I’m embarrassing myself, her, and my family by extension.
Needless to say I was floored. I mean, I know my wife is a little uptight, but this seemed like overkill. Especially because the only ones out at the bus stop are our neighbors on the other side of our duplex. We live on a quiet street with hardly any traffic, so it’s not like I’m setting up shop in Times Square. But, even if we did live in a highly trafficked area, I mean—THEY’RE PAJAMAS!!
I told her I work hard, and up until now I’ve had to get up early and get dressed in button-down shirts and slacks with dress shoes to head into the office. The beauty of working from home, I told her, is the ability to just laze around like a bum while I do my work. It doesn’t make sense to me to get dressed just to go out to the bus stop, to impress our neighbors (who don’t care what I look like) and fifteen elementary school kids who are too busy talking to notice my Patriots PJs.
But she wasn’t having any of it.
MJ maintained everyone should take some pride in their personal appearance whenever they leave the house—even if “leaving the house” consists of walking 25 feet to the end of the driveway and then coming right back inside. I’m not big on looks and etiquette, and MJ has a traditional streak a mile wide. And it appeared our two rather large personalities were locked in a death struggle.
That’s when the insults started flying.
She called me white trash. I called her a prude. She claimed I was humiliating my family, I urged her to get someone to surgically remove the rather large stick from her ass. On and on it went until we agreed to settle arguments like most couples do in this the 21st Century—pose the question to social media and have people vote on it.
So, good readers, with whom do you stand?
Do you care about appearances to the point of having to get dressed up to walk to the end of the driveway for fear of neighbors, strangers, and small children judging you? Or do you have enough self-confidence to say who gives a crap what other people think, and remain comfortable while walking your kid to the bus stop?
It’s the showdown—pajamas versus no pajamas. And the side you choose in this war could affect the future of our marriage, this internet, and possibly the world as we know it.
Weigh in and leave a comment.