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Nothing wrong with Frankenstein pajama pants.

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Nothing wrong with Frankenstein pajama pants.

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lack of pants
If I am having my crew members come check in with me at my own house, on a weekend -- and, unfortunately, they have to, or I can't get their time sheets in by the deadline -- I see no issue with wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants when they show up.

I'm dressed now, though. I had to go out and do a field observation for the last crew member, and that meant putting on work clothes. I decided to go with the Stacey-approved Dark Wash Straight Leg Jeans And A Blazer, even if Great-Grandboss is anti-jeans, because I am SO SICK of my dress pants, which are all cut fashionably low-waisted, which means they hit at exactly the point on my hips where either I have to wear a belt which makes LUMPS in the shirt pulled out over it, or the crotch gradually creeps down to mid-thigh. And the nicest-looking pair doesn't even HAVE belt loops. OR pockets. I don't understand why fashion has to be like this.

I had started the dishes before that crew member called to say she was ready, but that meant I'd only emptied the drainer, stacked everything neatly, and washed the glasses, and then I had to stop. eternaleponine was especially nice and did a full drainer's worth while I was out. That still leaves the pots and pans, but even so it's a lovely thing.

Also accomplished today: cleaned the cat box, picked up the purple dress from the dry cleaner's, and bought a Powerball ticket.

Things I still want to do today and tomorrow: make a grocery list, do the grocery shopping, spot treat the cuff of my best jacket, cull my pajama drawer, hang up all the clothes piled on my red divan, and start dealing with all my horrible scary papers that are making my desk look like the Perfesser's from Shoe.

...hey, I'm not sleeping all weekend!

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