I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Friday, August 2, 2013

Pajama Day.

Recently my pre-school age son had a super fun event at his day care center. It was called Pajama Day. It went like this; everybody was encouraged to show up in their pajamas,  and then they just did all the regular stuff they normally do on a typical day. But it was way more fun because they were wearing their pajamas. My son totally loved it.
   I was pretty jealous. How come something so joyful and fun is the sole property of the young? It's not fair. I need a Pajama Day much more than my kid does. My life is a never-ending series of mind numbingly boring events; I need pajama day. My shiftless-do-nothing-lazy-play-the-day-away-cartoons-and-sugared-cereal-happy-happy-baby-hobo child doesn't need Pajama Day to make his life better. It already IS better.
   So today I decided to wage an important, yet symbolic, battle for adults everywhere. I hijacked Pajama Day. I wore my pajamas all day. I went Bible study. I went to breakfast. I went to work, where I performed my plumberly duties, I had lunch, I went to the bank, I picked up my child from day care, I went to the grocery store, and then I went home. And it was great! It made everything better. It was intoxicating and pure.
   And then the cops showed up. I learned, it is frowned upon to wear your pajamas out in public if you are an adult. Especially at Bible study. And at restaurants. And at customer's homes. And at one's workplace. And at the bank. And at a day care center. And at the grocery store. Especially if your pajamas are your birthday suit.