The Rise and Fall of the Fuzzy Striped Pajamas

I bought them at Kohl’s last week.  Truth be told, they weren’t much to look at.  They were navy blue and gray striped, with gray pants, all in fleece.  But, oh! they were fuzzy.  And warm!  Considering I spend most of September to late May freezing my ass off, I have deep feelings for anything that keeps me from shivering.  Usually I’ll huddle on the couch, bundled in various layers of long-sleeve shirts, hoodies, tights, flannel pants, and blankets.  But in these magical pajamas, I needed nothing more but a pair of socks.  It was like running around in one of Grandma’s hugs.

And I loved the crap outta those things.  As soon as I got home from work, it was into those jammies.  Home for lunch?  I was wearing those jammies.  There was no excuse that wasn’t good enough for those beautiful pajamas.  I wore them damn-near constantly for a week, until Kyle started complaining that they were getting a little ripe.  Okay, jammies.  Time to get clean.

Looking back, I wish I’d never thrown those beautiful pajamas in the washer.  I wish I’d been just a little lazier, or hadn’t been able to find any clean temporary replacements, or had just told Kyle that he smelled like burnt garlic and to piss off.  But I didn’t.  I dropped them in the washer without a care, confident that I would see my jammies again, fresh and clean.  If only I’d known the recourse of my actions…

A few hours later, I heard that blessed buzz that indicated the end of the dryer’s cycle.  Jammies are done!  I dug them out of the dryer, and immediately dropped trou, eager to enjoy the warm fuzzy once more.  I slip on the shirt and oh! it’s so gloriously warm from the dryer, and so, so soft.  I could curl up right there on the bathroom floor and fall blissfully asleep.  But there’s more!  I smile as I slip my legs into the pants, anticipating the full-body warmth, and…what the hell?

The fuckers shrunk.  My wonderful, beautiful, glorious pajama pants shrunk.

Honest to god, I didn’t even know clothes did that anymore.  Sure, after 5 years and a billion washings an item might not retain all its stretch or original shape, but shrink?  Clothes don’t shrink!  Except there I was, standing in front of the dryer in pants that used to bunch up under my feed and now fall 6 inches from the ground.  Awesome.

Kyle says I should take them back, that there’s something wrong with clothes that shrink so drastically after one wash.  I rolled them twice at the waste and made them capris.  And they’re still pretty cute.  I imagine I’ll continue wearing them.  But the magic is gone.  They are no longer the bringers of warmth and joy, though they are still warm and soft.  I no longer come home anxious and excited to jump into my jammies, and seeing them doesn’t make me smile because all I see is what they used to be.  They’re no longer my magic jammies.  They’ve joined the ranks of my pajama drawer as what I imagine they’ve really been all along.

Sleepwear.