Experimenting with Pyjamas

I know, I know, but let's just not mention it, ok? Thanks.

Yesterday morning, hungover and broken, I was appointed to buy butter for the household - consisting of myself, Simp, and our Corkonian friend Lucy. Lucy and I decided this was our moment to try a local practise, and went to the shops in our pyjamas. In general when wandering the neighbourhood in the daytime, it's usual to meet small knots of women, sometimes (though by no means always) with prams in tow, at least one of whom is kitted out in pyjamas, slippers and puffa jacket. Lucy wasn't familiar with the trend, but was very definitely intrigued.

I'm sorry I don't have a photo, because we looked quite splendind in our winter coats and snuggly hoodies, with flimsy Betty Boop pyjama bottoms on. Lucy even had slippers to complete the look. There were a couple of giveaways though, most significantly my Converse and Lucy's heavy plastic designer glasses. And that was it. We knew we were frauds, and everyone else knew it too.

It was all a bit hair raising in the end. Emerging blinking from the alleyway onto Cork St at midday on a Saturday afternoon, I realised for the first time the extent to which this really is the city centre, and struggled with the near-certainty that I was about to run into my Leaving Cert geography teacher, or my boss (I wasn't, and didn't). But much more worrying was the knowledge that I was not a native pyjama-wearer, that everyone could see that I had never worn my pyjamas to the shops before, and god help us all, any genuine pyjama-wearers were likely to think we were taking the piss. Which we most definitely weren't. We just felt it was time to experiment with the nightwear-as-outdoor-wear trend.

I won't be doing it again. My legs were cold. I had no glasses on, so I squinted (threateningly?) at everyone I passed. And Lucy got no reassurance that she was part of a community: that morning, we were the only people we saw out and about in their pyjamas.