What Are You Wearing?

From the Corona Files

Folks have been making a big deal lately about wearing pants. I get it. There are days where I stay in pajamas until noon. I’m lying—there are days I never get out of pajamas.

For Zoom meetings no one needs to know I’m only wearing underwear.

BUT when I do decide to get dressed I’ve come to realize my wardrobe resembles gardening clothes. It is the over-sized comfy shirt with threadbare elbows thrown on over the ratty T-shirt with bleach stains. I’ve never been big on jeans. Even as a teen I found them restrictive, but I sure as hell would not wear stretch pants, the polyester kind with the elastic top. Now—I live in yoga pants which is stretch pants by any other name. I have not worn shoes with heels now for a number of weeks. I scuff around in slippers or else garden togs. For the longer walk I wear paint-spattered tennis shoes.

Every time I look at Dr. Birx in her countryclub get-up at the presidential press briefings I think, sheesh, lady, get a life.