Friday, February 5, 2016

fuck pants, anyway

I think my comfy couch is my office.  It just occurred to me.  And why SHOULDN'T it be my office? I think people would be way more productive if they worked from a comfy couch.  Sometimes I pay my bills on the couch, I sort mail, I read... 

Well, more often than not I get lost perusing the Internet.  I tend to spend far too much time scrolling through Facebook, clicking on every awesome Pinterest board, or organizing playlists on Spotify. 


I guess based on me personally, that productivity theory isn't exactly true. Don't judge me!  It's just that once I've committed to being comfy, I have a hard time refocusing on other very important things, like eating or folding laundry.

I'm sure other, less loungey people would actually be more productive.  Look at Google workers, for example. Apparently they get to work in a comfy environment, and they're rather successful and productive.

Speaking of loungey, I had to answer the door today and I was all like, God damn, now I have to get up from the comfy couch, before I planned on getting up, to answer the dumb door!  My indentation was perfect, I perfected it by sitting in the same place for a period of time that I am a little ashamed to admit, in fact.  ANYway, I figured maybe I would just ignore the door  Because who actually comes over unannounced mid-day anyway? A burglar?! 

Then I thought maybe I should just check, just in case it was a burglar trying to burgle all of my things. I did the covert thing where I slowly peeked around the corner to see if I could get a glimpse of who might be at the door. Which now that I think about it, was a dumb move.  Because I actually already know I can't see who is at the door from that particular angle, and go figure, I couldn't see anyone. So then I did the thing where you tiptoe to the closest window and ever so gently ruffle the curtain to see if there is a car (or burglar conversion van) in the driveway.  I don't know why the tiptoeing was necessary but you know, it felt right at the time.

Then it occurred to me that I didn't actually have pants on.  Well, I kind of had pants on.  PJ pants, if you will.  Because, fuck real pants!  Who needs real pants when you are all comfy and cozy?  PJ pants are always the way to go. I believe they're imperative in achieving the perfect level of coziness.  I was thinking I should invent pj pants that look like real pants so that when my husband gets home from a long day at work it looks like I got dressed. Because that's embarrassing. Particularly when I forget to make dinner... But then I was all, damn I think someone did that already with PajamaJeans. Those smarty pants beat me to it.  See what I did there?

So it turns out that nobody was at the door.  Well, a delivery guy had dropped a package on the porch, but by the time I got there he was gone.  Which was fine with me, because I don't necessarily want to chat with anybody smack in the middle of cozy couch time.

On another note last night my dog growled for at least five minutes at my foot shadow.  In her defense it did look a little like a black ghost. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

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