The Pajama Shame

"I'm just waiting for my change."

“I’m just waiting for my change.”

This isn’t what it looks like. I know, I know–a grown(ish) man, in his pajamas, eagerly awaiting the drive-thru window to flap open and a large vanilla milkshake to be conveyed into his idling sport utility vehicle does not look “good.” But what if I told you that the milkshake is not for me? What if I told you that the milkshake is for Wife, my pregnant wife? Would that make the cool kids, who just pulled up in their cool kids car looking like a cross between an American Eagle and American Spirit commerical, think I was NOT teetering on the brink of a late-twenties melt-down? Eh, who cares? Truth be told, I’m kind of enjoying this devil-may-go-on-pajama-milkshake-runs attitude. Besides, it’s not like I’m browsing the Metaphysics section at Barnes & Noble. I’m in a drive-thru: the penalty box of the food industry. Why a penalty box? Because you’re enclosed in glass and metal, feeling shame, until the guy in the box next to you gives you your change. Maybe next time I should roll up in my hockey gear for Maximum Analogy Impact. The point is, when you have a pregnant wife waiting on the other end of your errand, you can wear pretty much whatever you want without being scrutinized by strangers. Heck, I could be wearing a tuxedo and not feel embarrassed. Actually, wearing a tuxedo in a drive-thru, alone, would be much, much worse than wearing pajamas. That just screams “Prom Ended Early” or “The Spy Agency Wasn’t Hiring.”

 

The Ice-Consul

Looking fabulous.

Take your best shot. Trust me, I can handle it. Sure, I may not look like I can, but then again looks can be deceiving. Especially when you are an amateur makeup artist. See, I recently signed up for a senior hockey league, only to discover that there are try-outs. Think about that for a second. Try-outs…for a senior hockey league. Are there going to be scouts in the stands? Will a select few be drafted into a Canadian senior hockey league and spend the rest of their days playing for the glory of the Queen, or whoever it is that rules Canada, but at the cost of never seeing their families again? Granted, I understand the value of making sure your senior hockey league players are actually, you know, hockey players, but is that really a concern? Are people paying hefty sign-up fees to spend two hours of their precious nights and weekends in dirty rinks on the other side of the tracks with strange men who may or may not be stripping down to their undies at some point in the transaction, just, like, on a whim? If so, that is wild. But probably not, right? I must admit, however, that the prospect of going to try-outs makes me feel like I’m in high school again. It’s quite exciting. The only problem is that I was also involved in the whole theater scene around that age, and I’m afraid my wires may cross. “Hey, boys, are you excited for our audition? I’m going to make a slap shot and then do some interpretative skating. Yay! [clapping hands excitedly].” At least the makeup will make me look tough.