Just Trying It Out

Some farmgirl friends of mine who shall remain nameless like to live in their pjs all day. Not me. I like to put on my skirt or jeans just as soon as I wake up. You never know who might be knocking on the door. Some older folks around here still remember when my house was a country church. They drop in for coffee and visit and then look around and say, "sure was cleaner when it was a house of worship." Okay, so they don't say that out loud.



Anyway today I am out of coffee. That is worth a whole post all by itself so let's just pause a minute.





After realizing that I was out of coffee, I cried and cried cathartic tears. Not really. In actuality I just decided to embrace the day anyway. Walking around my garden in the warming morning sun with a bracing mug of water. It's just not the same. But then, who needs to get in a rut? Not me, I answer wholeheartedly.





That is not my garden. That is a neighboring hay field. Because my new prozac is farm photos. If they put you to sleep, I'm sorry, but I'm out of coffee.



Maybe because of the coffee canister vacancy and maybe because I'm just cracked, this morning I decided to live on the edge and do the morning garden stroll and animal chores in my pajamas. If my fellow farmgirls find it comforting and acceptable, I think to myself, I'll just test that out for a day. Why not?



So fully covered but frankly ridiculous in my pink Race for the Cure tshirt and my husband's red flannel moose print pajama bottoms rolled up eight times to reveal sparkly black and red rubber boots, I set out for the farmyard with my mug of water. To get the full picture you'd have to know that I also sported bed head. My hair is of the auburn naturally frizzy huge type. Without the weightless serum (which I've thoroughly beta tested for you and now know to only smooth the hair, not the thighs whatsoever) my hair is a sight to behold. From 50 feet or further.

I was already regretting my pajama choice when I opened the chicken yard gate and got the flannel bagginess caught in the chicken wire. Not very hygienic, ew; I'm squeamish about chicken germs for a farmgirl. I had to put down my mug. It says "We Don't Care How They Do It In New York" and features as decoration a woman reclined at her desk with a stalk of hay in her mouth. Weird. Everyone knows they do that in New York all the time. Also I don't EVER put hay in my mouth because it's approximately ten thousand dollars a ton and I need six tons for the horses to make it through the winter.

After I disentangled my pajamas from the gate and retrieved my cup (note to self: bleach the cup; it may have contracted chicken germs) I fed the horses, making sure to steer well-clear of the electric wire at the top of the paddocks. Wouldn't want to get stuck there, continuously shocking myself until I could untangle the big pjs. Because I don't need electroshock therapy -- remember I have my farm photos now.

I successfully (this is relative, give me a break) finished the farm chores in pajamas! I was SO in the clear, walking back up to my house enjoying a piece of lettuce I snagged out of the garden. That will have to be breakfast because it's just wrong to eat toast without coffee. So picture me, if you will, dangling a germy cup, in full pj regalia and with a cloud of hair and no makeup, entering my picket fence front yard to find the nice Jehovah's Witnesses visiting.

There's just no reason to think wearing pajamas all day is relaxing.

I remain, respectfully, your skirt-clad farmgirl. On my way to town to buy coffee.