They aren’t just for comet chasing cults anymore.
Growing up, my experience with the matching PJs family was limited to photos like this in ads and Sears catalogs. They always looked a little too Stepford happy, a little too polished. My family on Christmas morning looked like they’d been rousted out of bed by a smoke alarm, and the only real consideration of lounging fashion were our silent prayers that my father wouldn’t suffer a terry cloth robe wardrobe malfunction.
No, no, Dad, please let me reach for that last present stuck behind the tree….