Last night my good friend Dan Katz set off quite the firestorm when he tweeted this picture of his adorable dog, Stella, braving a rain delay.
Big mistake! Every time you tweet a picture on the internet the sleuths come out, they zoom in and try to find slight changes from things they do in their own personal lives then they attempt to shame you for it. “Jeans? Is that what those are covering Dan’s shins?! JEANS?! Oh, the humanity!” was the general response from people so I came to his aid and admitted that I too wear jeans all night.
Now I will admit the emphasis on *insane* wasn’t quite necessary. Putting on comfortable clothes when you get home from work does not point to mental illness, I can be honest about that and say it was an exaggeration. However the tweet did inspire a poll and I’m getting washed away. Almost every poll in Twitter history ends at a 50/50 vote so when you go down 87/13 you need to address it.
You see, I was raised with a little something called class and you are not to treat your home like a locker room (I’m sorry to bring up class I just wanted to highlight the fact that you folks hanging around your house in pajamas while the sun is still up have none). You people just sit around in loungewear, like some kind of prostitute? You put on gym shorts for dinner as if you’re a ragamuffin fresh from gym class? Let me guess, as a child you were allowed to eat in a wife beater without table settings? Probably could even put plastic containers, a liter of Mountain Dew no doubt, directly on the table? Goodness, I shudder to think.
What if you need to entertain unexpected houseguests? What if you get a late invitation to drinks? Hell, what if you order delivery food? You just let anybody see you in your gardening clothes? Or worse, you have to change again? Preposterous!
One time when I was like a squirt I had to get stretchered off the ice during a hockey game. They thought I’d broken my neck so they had to cut my equipment off, and my mom was very upset with me. Not because hockey equipment is expensive, not because we were going to be late to my aunt’s Christmas party, but because the boxers I was wearing were quite ragged. “Always wear good underwear, John Henry, you never know who’s going to see them,” is what she told me while the doctor made sure my C4 vertebrae wasn’t shattered. Well I took that to heart and made it larger than underwear: always wear good clothes, you never know who’s going to see them. I don’t care if it’s the delivery man, or a criminal who just broke into my house, or even myself as I walk past the bathroom mirror: I always want to at least think I look good, right up until bed time.
Plus, like I said, I’m just too lazy. That’s really what this comes down to more than anything, laziness. I’m fine in “uncomfortable” (jeans aren’t even uncomfortable. If you’re wearing uncomfortable jeans you should just get new jeans) clothes as long I don’t have to do anything else. It’s kinda like how my lower back is a disaster and my right shoulder is a mess and I have a tooth that screams at me every time I take a sip of water. I’m sure I could solve all those problems, which have been plaguing me for years, if I put in the effort to see a medical professional. But at the end of the day, I’d rather just be on the couch in constant pain and also looking good while wearing jeans.