The other day I was at a friends place late in the day and I was helping her clean her place. While I was cleaning I came across a pair of cute pyjama’s and I held them up and said that they were cute. She said that she rarely wears PJ’s and only wears them if they are matching. I, on the other hand, love pyjama’s.
As a child if I was given $20 to buy something in a mall I would return with a new pair of pyjama’s, probably warm, and always fuzzy. When discussing our differences in pyjama’s a theory arose. The theory was that my love of pyjama’s came from a childhood of being sick. I was raised sick. I was always fighting off pneumonia or some sort of lung infection. So clothes would sit unused for weeks on end when PJ’s were loved and used no matter what.
I’m no longer sick as much, everything has levelled out to a degree. I still get sick but I’m well longer than I’m sick and there are longer stretches of time between being sick. Even though my health is better, my love of pyjama’s will never fade.
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How Finding Nemo Gave Me Hope.
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A Curse for This Town; What a Beautiful Town
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Why I hate going to public pools and the beach.
Spring and Such