Pajama Party

So last night, I found a new way to beat the February blues: a pajama party with the Shadow Women. (That is the pseudonym I gave this group of friends when I first mentioned them on this blog. The pseudonym we use in real life, a nickname given to us by one of our husbands, is the Wild Women. I am not sure which pseudonym fits better.)

Long Beautiful Hair said that as she was packing up her duffle bag, sleeping bag, and pillow to carry out to the car, her teenage son said to her, incredulously, "You are going to a pajama party? Aren't you a little old for that?"

I don't think I will ever be too old for a pajama party. The seven of us gathered by the fire, talking and laughing, our conversations ranging all over the place. We talked about kids, about jobs, about sex. I told them about Bitch PhD's bra post, and even took my shirt off to model the Wacoal bra I was wearing. We analyzed Signing Woman's marriage. We laughed at Makes Bread’s latest trials with her husband, a man we all know and love, who does have his blind spots. Quilt Artist, who is always sewing something while we sit and talk, pulled her latest quilt out of her quilt bag for us to admire.

Eventually, when people started looking sleepy, all comfy by the fire, Long Beautiful Hair and I cranked up the music, and made everyone get up and dance. Our friends have come to expect this behavior from us; they know that resistance is futile. They complained about the music, complained that they were too tired, and then they got up and danced anyhow. We played the sound track from Footloose and Dirty Dancing, and then switched over to CDs from local bands.

After all the dancing, we had another round of eating: vegetable soup, veggie chili, chips and salsa, cookies and cake. Long Beautiful Hair, saying that it was a pajama party tradition, put this weird gunk that she called a face mask all over her skin. After it dried – and this was the creepy part – she began peeling it off. It was like a scene in Scooby Doo; I expected to see some evil villain emerge as she peeled her face off. I am not sure what the effects of the face mask were, since her complexion is gorgeous to begin with, but watching her shed a layer of skin like a snake was certainly eerie.

We stayed up way too late, of course, in the tradition of pajama parties everywhere, and at breakfast, everyone was sleepy. We sat in the winter sunshine that poured in through the east windows, eating muffins and cereal and fruit, drinking hot tea and coffee, talking and listening to music. A hike in the woods, through several inches of new snow and cold crisp air, revived us all. After a relaxed lunch of leftovers by the fire, everyone headed home, ready to return to their everyday lives.