Sweatpants

Well, it's been about 15 minutes since I clicked 'New Post', and still no ideas. Usually something comes to me by this point, but not tonight. Instead I'm just staring at the screen and thinking about how nice it will feel when I finally close my eyes and fall fast into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You see, I'm tired. I stayed up late the past few nights watching Housewives and it's finally caught up with me. Sleep deprivation. The worst. I did it to myself, I did, and that's why it really hurts.

Here's something to ponder: from 7th grade through 12th grade—ages 13 to 18—I wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt to school every day.

OK, maybe it was four days a week. But still.

Also, in junior high, I often took things a step further and wore actual pajama bottoms. Fuzzy PJ bottoms in cow print, polka dots or plaid. I remember our assistant principal, Mrs. Riley, tried to enforce a ban. When I caught wind of this, I organized a protest, encouraging everyone to wear PJ bottoms to school one day. Civil disobedience at its finest.

She never said anything to us about it. We didn't get in trouble. She probably thought, "F it, I really don't care" and moved on to more pressing matters.

Other facts about sweatpants:

• Andy only wears them in the house. If he's taking out the garbage, he changes back into jeans.

• Sometimes it's more comfortable to wear them with the pockets inside out. 

• It was common knowledge among Inglemoor High School students that Fred Meyer had the best sweatpants.

• They really are, without a doubt, very unflattering. 

• There's nothing more depressing than when you try on a friend's pair of sweatpants and they're too small. Tight sweatpants is an oxymoron. It's a non sequitur. Or at least it should be. When sweatpants fit snug around the butt, elastic jutting into the muffin top, it's extremely damaging to the self esteem. 

Annual Arrowheadian sleepover. Sweatpants all around.

Goodnight! Yes! Finally! Sleep! I can't wait.

Margaret

P.S. I'd like to thank my parents for never commenting on my decision to dress like a slob for five straight years. I'm sure it was tempting, but if there was ever a time to be hands-off, it was then. The teenage years. Plus, if they'd even so much as hinted that I wear jeans, I would have read them the riot act. I'd probably still be wearing sweatpants daily just to prove a point.

So, that's something to file away for the future. You can't tell a teenager what to wear. They're too sensitive and too headstrong. Plus, it's none of your business. They're basically young adults and they should dress however they want, even if it is embarrassing and unflattering.