Half-Asleep in Shark Pyjamas

Wedding Anniversaries:
1. Paper
2. Cotton
3. Leather
4. Linen

Singledom Anniversaries:
1. Glass (Shot glass, beer glass)
2. Tin (Baked beans, unheated)
3. Flannelette (Nightwear)
4. Hair (Cat)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every now and then I develop very brief, low-grade obsessions with certain things. (Certain people at times, too, but that’s another story.) These things are usually objects for which I have little or no real need, but manage to convince myself that the absolute opposite is true.

Several years ago -- not long after I re-entered the workforce following a long break –- I absolutely had to have a bagless vacuum cleaner. Now I am not one generally given to excessive consumption, or a need to have the latest chi-chi appliance as recommended by Queer Eye, but on this occasion my mind would not be still until I had one of these appliances cluttering up my cupboard. I'm at a loss to explain it. Nevertheless, as a reward for weeks of dedicated pricing and hunting, researching and haggling I struggled home from the plaza triumphant, shiny new blue thing under my arm. The machine's general lack of verve in comparison to the older, uglier model it replaced was rather a disappointment, but the exercise scratched the itch and so served its purpose. (I guess.)

Over the past few weeks my obsessive attention has turned to nightwear. I have not been a regular wearer of pyjamas of any stripe for around twenty years or so, but the odd occasion I’ve needed them – a hospital visit, say, or a wholesome and modest overnight stay somewhere – this lack has been mightily inconvenient. As I’ve perused the selection available recently I’ve remembered why it is that I haven’t hurdled this obstacle in the past. The nightwear choices for women are appalling. The garments are themed thusly:

I’m Pretending I’m A Four-Year-Old. These seem to be in the majority, and involve swathes of pink, hearts, Winnie-the-Pooh and sundry other sickly, cutesy shit that no self-respecting or mentally healthy adult should be seen dead in.

Cheap Hooker. You’ll find this range in the plastics aisle, alongside cling film and fly swats. Perhaps this is indicative of some social deficit of mine: I honestly don’t think I could wear something shiny and oil-derived with “Naughty” or “Bad Girl” written across it. Not even in irony. Ever.

Nana. Need I explain? Floral flannelette nighties, scratchy pink polyester dressing gowns. Need to be married to entertain this genre.

And the fourth choice is, of course, to wear men’s pyjamas.

Given this monumental, heart-wrenching dilemma, you may be surprised to learn that I did indeed make a purchase last week, although not as I’d expected. On a day trip to Redcliffe, Little Sister and I indulged in a bit of a dig through a remainder store and to my delight found a set of PJ’s that were – gasp! – quite acceptable. They are men’s style, but not overly masculine, and the fluffy flannelette is keeping me cosy as the winter air continues to chill. But sharks are not the first thing that would spring to mind if called upon to design nightwear, although I think that’s to my discredit because my new pyjamas are rather glorious for their marine decoration. And they only cost $12.

So, flannelette-clad, I can relax, itch scratched – for now. And so onto the next must-have thing; I have a funny feeling it may be one of these*.

*Full credit to Cheryl for bringing this to my attention. Where does she find all this cool stuff?