Ode to Jammy Pants

The reason for the inclusion of the above photo is not because of all the false statements it makes. I mean, just because I'm standing in the kitchen does not mean that I cook. Just because there are 3 open bottles of wine in front of me does not mean that I can't make a decision. And just because I'm waving a carrot over my glass of wine does not mean that I will be eating it with my drink (there will most assuredly be a pizza in my life later on).

No, the reason for posting that photo with this little clothing-related tidbit is because it's one of many I've found where I'm wearing my favorite thing in the world: my jammy pants.

As the halfway mark to "this stupid idea" (as I've come to call it) approaches, I've come to really feel strongly for the clothes I have. Some of them I kind of hate right now; if I have to look at that same stinkin' blue sundress again for the 4th of July, I might throw something. But when it comes to my jammy pants, a strange sort of love has blossomed.

Don't scoff at my intense emotions; my love for jammy pants is a sweet, enduring love. Because they are perfect. The exact right length, the exact amount of stretchy; they are a pair of sweat pants that never make me feel bad for being too tired, too sick, or too lazy to put on a pair of "real" pants. I ask you, what kind of person could give someone that kind of acceptance?

There really aren't any other lounging pants in my life. Sure, there are other sweats, other pajama bottoms, but I've begun to realize that these are the ones I always want. When they're in the dirty clothes basket, I'm sad. When they're available on the closet shelf (or on the floor next to other "not really dirty yet" clothes) I'm happy. When I'm wearing them, I'm really, really happy.

And they've seen me through many situations. I'm realizing how true that is as I look through all my photos for shots of them, some of them silly carrot kitchen photos, other boring lounging photos, and then some a little cooler. Like this one from the Atacama desert in northern Chile:

Yes, those are the jammy pants with me on the bunk bed. And here they are on the Tierra del Fuego:

It's kind of funny to think that they were a chance purchase while at a regatta in San Diego my freshman year of college (ooh, what was that, 7 years ago? wow). I think they were $20.

Knowing now how comfy they are, how great they are for both sleeping and for singing Brittany Spears while drinking champagne, I surely would have paid twice that.

Heck, for 7 years of travel and relaxation, early morning shuffles to the gym and late night glasses of wine on the porch, I would have paid $100 for these pants. They're still green, sort of, they still say CREW really big down the side, awesome, and the drawstring still works something I've employed religiously ever since my roommate pantsed me while my hands were full that one time senior year.

As I gaze longingly at the new clothes still coming out this summer, I think about how much I would be willing to pay for these silly, awesome pants. I can see how it's changing how I'm going to shop again once January rolls around. The price tags on new stuff don't seem astronomical to me like they did before, I guess because I imagine buying only the things that I'm going to love like I love the jammy pants.

Why waste money on stuff that isn't totally perfect? Why did I ever buy that pair of jeans with the ridiculous pockets that do not make by butt look awesome? ...because they were on sale??

No, never again. I'm only ever going to allow stuff into my closet if it is certain to be loved every time I wear it. No more money wasted! If it's going to be purchased, it must pass the jammy pants test!