"Are those my pajama bottoms? Yay! Throw them to me!" I exclaimed.
Matthew was folding laundry when I spotted my faded flannels with little snowflakes on them. I couldn't help but be excited. I'm used to being warm in the Arizona desert, and the nights have gotten brisk lately - about 65 degrees. I thought all my leg cozies were dirty, so I was more than happy to trade my shorts for the pjs.
"What...these sexy things?" asked my Man sarcastically, pitching them to my chair.
This is how honesty happens: a woman betrays her love for her flannel pjs, and the man in her life says what he really thinks before he can help it.
"What's wrong with my flannel pjs? You don't like them, do you?" Then I added accusingly, as if he were insulting my best friend, "You've never liked them, have you?"
"They're alright. I get why you like them - they're warm - but why don't you go and get something nice to sleep in for my Christmas gift this year?" Smile, wink-wink.
Ah, this was bad! He was giving up the hope of snazzy electronics, polo shirts and dangerous tools to bribe me into buying more attractive sleepwear! It was enough to make me re-evaluate the appeal factor of knee-high socks and old soccer shorts, another bedtime ensemble of mine in which I'm certain I look absolutely adorable.
It's unfair. I'm sure men in arctic climates are happy with less...or more. When their lovely, hardy wives pull off their insulating layers of down, seal blubber and deer skin at the end of the day, I'm sure those men feel the heat at that first peek of long johns underneath. It's only because I live somewhere that doesn't know the true heart of "winter" that I am expected to dress to impress even while I sleep.
Okay, I'll be fair. It's important to care about what your spouse thinks. My Man grew his moustache ten years ago, because I like facial hair on men. I'm wearing a sexy, red dress to his company Christmas party this year, despite some reservations, because he loves it on me. And one of the first things I did when we married was to dig out all his long jean shorts and ask that he give them away, asap. When he told me he hates Capri pants on a woman, I stopped wearing them.
Because I absolutely want to be appealing to the love of my life, just as he does for me.
But I love my flannel pjs and knee-high socks like I could never love a pair of Capris. It's just possible that if I give them up, I'll end up growing out my leg hair for warmth each winter.
So there's the rub - the bristly, cold rub. Sure, I'll find and wear a chemise (Elizabeth Taylor, Cat on A Hot Tin Roof) to our winter bed IF I can wear knee-high socks, flannel bottoms or woolly legs beneath it.
Who's the sex kitten? Uh, the woman with hairy legs in that satin negligee. Yeah, baby!
