The Missing Pajamas

Sometimes I think if it weren’t for mules, men might be the dumbest creatures on the planet. At least mules have not been known to lose their PJ’s. Let me explain.

Somehow my favorite pajama bottoms disappeared. I discovered they were MIA from their regular place in the closet. Where are they, I wondered. I looked everywhere, the dirty clothes hamper, washing machine, dog’s bed and rag closet. No luck. Panic attacked me.

I shouted to my wife, “Honey, have you seen my…?” I cut the sentence off. What am I thinking, about to ask my wife if she’s seen my pajamas? I had just returned from a business trip. I wanted no interrogation from her about where my pajamas might be. Men should always know the whereabouts of their pajama bottoms.

Losing things around the house is not uncommon. Washing machines eat socks, and my drawer is full of mismatched pairs. My stuff often goes missing, things like old running shoes, moth-eaten sweaters, ripped shirts and filthy fishing jackets. Always my most favorite possessions.

Forget these PJ’s were my favorites. Ralph Lauren specials, expensive. Even the paper carrier recognizes me by them. Our favorite things always get lost, or tossed. But today I had bigger worries.

An incident came to mind involving an old friend named Bob. He returned home from a business trip without his pajamas. He noticed they were missing. It was of mild concern to him since they were cheap. So he thought nothing about it. Until a week later.

When he arrived home from work his wife, Marie, met him at the door. She handed him a package. It had been opened. The return label read “Airport Holiday Inn.” He looked at it, then at her. She said, “Why don’t you open it?” His mild surprise quickly morphed into major horror as he opened the package. Inside were his pajamas, ironed and nicely folded, and a note that read, “Sweetie, you left these.” The interrogation began. You know how it went, don’t you?

I’ve always thought women make better interrogators than men. To start with they have psychic powers of observation, intuition and conjecture. They can actually "see” what’s in a man’s mind by simply looking at him. Words are unnecessary. I know this since all women in my family are skilled in these traits. They are apparently not in the mule gene pool.

Poor Bob got the third degree. His uhs, wells, ahs, head scratching and just plain dumb looks gave him away. She handed him his pajamas, took his house keys, and shoved him outside. No bags, no dinner, no goodbye. None of us have heard from Bob lately, but I understand he’s a poor and broken man.

So you see my concern? Where are my pajamas? What might my wife think? How will I explain them missing? Never mind that I an innocent of all impropriety, and I detest airport Holiday Inns…these things do not make a plausible explanation. And I hoped she had forgotten about Bob and Marie. So I avoided the issue. But in a few minutes the issue found me.

She brings me a drink, says, “Sit down.” I do. I ask about dinner. She says nothing. I suspect something horrible is about to happen as she stands there, hands on hips, and looks down at me. She reminds me of my 4th grade teacher who always stood over me. I remember the unpleasant outcome.

“Are you missing something,” she says. I cringe, remembering Bob. I pretend to think, scratch my head. Mules have similar traits. I say, “Well, matter of fact I am.” She says, “You want to talk about it?” I squirm. “Well?” she says. I’m now hooked. So I just look dumb, throwing caution to the wind and say, “Yes. My pajamas are missing.” She looks at me, smiles, twirling the house keys on her finger. I pray.

She says, “You’ll be fine here alone, I’m leaving.” I’m terrified. “How ‘bout me?” I lament. She laughs, says, “Fend for yourself. I’m going to dinner with friends.” I jump up, ask, “But Honey, what about my pajamas?” She says, “I threw ‘em out…always hated them. You’ll get over it.” She turns, glances behind with a smile and disappears into the night.

Men, face it…women are smarter than we. It’s better to not have pajamas if you’re forgetful where you sleep!

Bud Hearn
February 17, 2011