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I have not worn pyjamas since I was a child. There was a brief intermediate time when I wore a nightshirt (I was a student and I thought it made me look retro and cool, but of course, no one ever saw it as I usually slept alone). But since I grew up I have been happy to sleep naked, allowing easy access to my junk should I or anyone else wish to touch it (statistically speaking it has been me a lot more times than it has been anyone else). Who would wear pyjamas? Dads and old men!
But today, after dashing up to the Westfield for the second time in the day. As always I had my plan for countering any terrorist attack at the back of my mind - I was ready to use a champagne bottle I had bought as a gift to brain any machine-gun toting nutter today and was planning my speech to the news media, explaining why, unlike all the other have-a-go merchants I actually was a hero. It annoys me that these people always say, “I am not a hero. I was just doing what anyone else would have done.’ Especially as if I had taken on a man with a machine gun and attacked him like his head was the hull of a ship on its maiden voyage then I would be a fucking hero. How brave was I? In this totally imaginary situation that I had thought through this far. I was even beginning to think of the material that I would write for the inevitable Edinburgh Fringe show, “I am a fucking hero”. I was a bit disappointed when no terrorists attacked. Will none of these fuckers think of my career?
Anyway I’d been stocking up on nappies but had wandered into a men’s clothing shop and remembered that I needed a new dressing gown. There were some on sale, so I bought a couple, but then I noticed the pyjamas. And I had been thinking that maybe now I am a dad I should get some night clothes. Not because that’s what dads do (or maybe actually exactly because this is why dads do it), but because at the moment it doesn’t matter if I am in bed with my daughter and we’re all naked, but it won’t be long before it will start to matter. And as good as a dressing gown is for keeping you warm when you get up in the morning I do always worry about answering the door and having the gown fly open or that I might accidentally flash my mother-in-law as I am coming down the stairs. For all kinds of reasons it seemed sensible to buy something to wear in bed, even if it was also a bell loudly tolling the death of the last vestiges of my sexiness. But also a lot of these pyjama combos were a bit cooler than the pyjamas of old, with pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt top or just slightly casual stuff to lounge in that looked more like sports gear than night wear.
But yes, it happened. I bought what was essentially pyjamas and wore them tonight. After a hiatus of 30 years my bottom was covered by pyjama bottoms. I explained to my wife that this did not have to mean the end of her sex life, demonstrating that the pyjama bottom could be pulled down rapidly in what I imagine was an extremely sexy way.
But yes, I know. I told you that having a baby wouldn’t change me (I don’t think I did and I don’t think you would have cared or expected any differently), but having a baby has changed me into the kind of man who wears pyjamas. And I have to tell yo that I love it. I might actually stop wearing any other kind of clothing. Pyjamas are cool and anyone who wears them is also cool. That’s the news that I am hearing from all the cool grapevines. And if the news that I wear pyjamas loses me my many young fans and makes me lose my sex symbols status amongst the 18-21 year olds, then so be it. They’re comfortable and they hide my balls from the postman (he will be the most upset about this I am sure).
