humor, Uncategorized

Pajamma Mamma

Pretty sure this is the jammies trying to kill me… #diaperfabulous

I tend to travel light. I bring as little as possible. Mostly because I know I will be buying crap I don’t need and want to bring back. Shoved and crammed into my suitcase. And for the simple fact that paying for luggage after paying an arm and a leg to travel already is not on my list of favorite things. Which brings me to my pajammas. Or, my mamma’s pajammas.

pickle-grande feet peek

I didn’t bring any sleepy time wear on our trip, so I borrowed. No biggie. If I were alone, I’d sleep in the buff. But, I’m not alone. And buff-sleeping isn’t probable. Sigh. Bummery.  Now, since I’m not one to complain -*cough, ha ha, what… I had a tickle in my throat- I realize that out of all of the options of nighties, I chose the pair that wants to jump off my body. Literally. When I’m walking around the house. The jammies want to dive off me to the floor. When I’m sleeping, the cozy creepy sleepies tries to strangle me in my sleep. Yes, over my head. They only get about diaper fabulous; But, they try. They try hard. When I go to tinkle, my fuzzy pant legs get twisted up. I think they’re trying to escape down the toilet. Or the booby hatch. Either way, these damn jammies don’t want to stay on my mammy fanny.
Moral of the story, folks? Bring pajammas when you travel. Or at the very least, some underwear. And not of the granny-panty variety either. Otherwise you could end up swimming upstream a pair of flood pants. Too big for you. And too pickle-grande for your mammy.


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