Bring on the Sweats (Part II)

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This is Part II of the Bring on the Sweats series: How House Clothes Almost Killed Me — For Part I, click here.

So house clothes almost killed me. Well, more like I almost died* while wearing/lack of wearing my house clothes…

It’s Friday night and I’m starving. I have to eat before meeting up with friends or the night will end badly. I consider cooking but don’t want to wait for chicken to defrost so I opt to get food delivered instead. Delivery in NY is pretty quick and painless. Everything is done online; all you have to do is browse, click, and open the door. I play on the internet until my doorman calls to let me know that the delivery man is headed towards my apartment. “Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! I’m not wearing any pants!”

I quickly get off the couch and put on pants (my grey sweats… you know the pair). I walk towards the front door then, BAM. I pass out out of nowhere. I wake up on the floor of my foyer, fully dressed but disheveled. I’m not sure how long I had been lying there but shortly after I come to my senses, the delivery man rings the doorbell. It turns out that I only blacked out for a couple of seconds. My blood sugar was low and I got up too quickly to put on pants and get to the door.

After the shock of falling on my face wore off, I ate dinner and lounged around until it was time to get ready to go out (I may or may not have started bawling in between). Now most of you don’t know me but in the not-so-distant past, I was the queen of going out. I’ve done boozy brunch (with bottle service) til 5 pm, only to go out again for dinner and drinks at 8 pm and come home after eating breakfast around 5 am. But that single girl is long gone.

Nowadays, if I have tentative plans, by the time 9:30 pm rolls around, a very strong wave of laziness washes over me. On the night I almost died*, the laziness was also met with a lot of pain, ugly scratches and bruising. I obviously didn’t make it out that night, but even on any other night, it’s become a nearly impossible task to take the single girl out of her house clothes. The most common excuse for not getting dressed is, “Ugh, but I’m so comfortable right now!” For the same reason why I put on the house clothes after work, why would I want to take them off?

My girls and I have spoken about this phenomenon ad nauseum and after much scientific testing, we’ve concluded that house clothes are to be blamed for about 70.3% of the time we don’t go out on the weekends. I look at it like this; once you pull a new umbrella out of it’s casing, it’s nearly impossible to stuff it back in. The same goes for me and nice (i.e. tight, fitted) clothing–once I shimmy out of a pencil skirt, why would I want to stuff myself back into a bandage dress? It’s just that much harder…

Or am I just too lazy for my own good?

*May be exaggerating a tiny bit.

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