Ode to my jammie Pants

Oh jammie pants, how I love you. You are the wind beneath my wings. (Also, sometimes you are the wings outside my wind, if you know what I mean?? Huh, huh?)

I still remember the first time I saw you - laying there on my father-in-law's couch. He had picked you up from the D.I. What kind of fool would leave you behind? Probably some fancy lad like that awful David Osmond or that guy that wears the sunglasses and talks all saucy on CSI: Miami. I hate that guy, but I will happily sleep in his old jammie pants... what an idiot.

It was almost like you winked at me that night lying there on that couch. Winked at me with your fly. When I put you on, it was like stepping into a warm cottage; not like a yuppie cottage in Caramel either. More like a cottage made for hobbits in the Shire - but without the low hanging ceiling fans.

Your elastic waste-band is not too tight. In fact, I think you were designed for a fat man, but I like you just the way you are. I am not at all judgmental of your size. If you wanted to diet or workout a little, I wouldn't stop you, but I would also not encourage you. Dieting is a personal choice and I really wouldn't want to pressure you one way or another. Unless of course, you were to ask me my opinion - I would advise you to start drinking diet soda and to lay off the bread already.

I apologize if I never tie your ties. I like to be able to scratch at will. Sometimes I get an itch. Don't take it personally - you have very nice ties. Sometimes, if there is company over (I like to look nice for company), I might tie the ties. But only if the company tie worthy. I am not tying the ties for the eight year old neighbor boy or for my the home teachers. Sorry guys, you are just not tie worthy. (If the home teacher happens to be in the Stake Presidency, I may tie)

Your checkers keep me in check. Your stripes are so stripy, your flannel so flannely. Your free flowing cotton flows like a model's hair blowing in a fan induced wind. You never stick, pull or most importantly, wedge. You start to wedge and I drop you like BYU sweatpants. You are on warning.

Jammy pants - I love thee.