What Do You Go Home To?

Aside from the fact that I ended a sentence in a preposition,

what were your initial thoughts when reading the title?

I'll go first:

My initial thoughts were this:

Food!

Netflix!

Candy!

Food!

My next thoughts were then regarding the fact that I should probably abstain from candy for a solid week before jumping back into incessant sugar comas after the EIGHT FILLINGS I was fortunate enough to undergo this month.

Interestingly enough, none of these "thoughts" have anything to do with the topic of this post: which is, since you so kindly inquired, about the stuff you change into when you get home.

Not pajamas, per se- though I assume a few of us aren't able to make it through another outfit change before bed. Which is fine. No judgements. Especially from the girl who's been known to wear the same thing to bed as to work.

But today I'm more interested in that intermediate ensemble that gets you from "I'm in public and have to look not homeless" to the "Sex and the City season 1 episode one let's DO THIS"/"Can I call it a taco if I put everything in my fridge in a tortilla" stage of the night - meant for yours (and maybe one wildly lucky companion's) eyes only.

For me, this attire is usually relegated to spandex or silk.

Spandex- for its inimitable property of allowing my stomach to expand to pregnant-woman status, and silk- because I'm actually incapable of regulating my body temperature and often find myself in panicked moments of overheating that are only remedied by the near-nothingness that is a silk nightie.

Need to run errands?

Throw an overcoat over the barely there bedwear and voila! It's a dress!

~~Everyone~~ No one will know the difference!

Birks are my current midnight-errand shoe of choice. Mainly because my black, wear-everywhere-else, booties might result in me being mistaken for a hooker.

Then again, YOLO, #amIright

[brief pause to recover from saying "YOLO"]

Anyhoot. Please do let me know what you strip down to the second you walk into the door.

I'm compiling this information to use at a later date that involves me starting my own Carrie Bradshaw-esque column about how fashion is actually not cool and very weird kind of like sex a là her 90's exposé.

I'm taking title suggestions.