It’s been a lazy sort of Sunday- in your pjs all kind of day. It is what it is.
My neighbor, friend and mischief-maker popped me a text to ask if I had time for one cocktail. I answered back ‘sure — if I can come in pjs’ and bra-less and oh by the way is there popcorn?’ Trader Joe’s white cheddar popcorn to be exact. Amen.
I remember when I moved into this quirky little Historic District I’ve called home for a decade and a half of seeing neighbors at various times of the eve walking up or down or to someone else’s home — in various forms of pjs carrying cocktail in hand. It was a magical sort of sight to behold. All of these oddities of course made me feel right at home.
As I searched for some type of shoe to wear to my neighbor’s home (somehow one croc was under the sofa I’m almost positive Olive had something to do with this) I smiled thinking how wonderful it is to head for cocktails in your pjs. It’s also somewhat like going to the grocery store at 8am on a Saturday in your pj’s, dark sunglasses and a baseball cap (as if the baseball cap and dark shades will completely hide your identity as everyone nods to you and says hi because they too are in the same garb). All for vanilla creamer. Which is most important when you realize you are out. And too sleepy to think about changing thus a baseball cap and dark sunglasses will suffice long enough to run in, grab said vanilla creamer and back home before you can blink.
I’m fairly certain it all boils down to being a bit silly. And how fun that is. I’m quite certain that’s what this is all about.
Alas — you’ve never quite fully lived (in my book) – until you’ve headed to a neighbor’s home – in pjs – to have cocktails.
Cocktails at Seven 