Pajamas and Posies

My wife and I have developed a sort of “habit” on Sunday mornings before church. Our service starts at around 10:00 am, which means we have plenty of time to sit out on the front porch and drink coffee and enSteve Urkeljoy the morning, if we get up like we should.

A few Sunday’s ago, I was feeling particularly lazy due to my being up late the night before, waking up around 7:30 and dragging around for forty five minutes or so before I joined Toni on our front porch rocking chairs (matching no less) to watch the birds and assorted other critters beginning to move around in our front yard.   I felt that since I was so sore from a hard Saturday’s work in the yard and garden, it would be okay if I just slipped out to the front porch rockers in my pajamas to enjoy my first cup of coffee. I could get dressed for the day after my left eye finished opening, thus preventing putting my pants on inside out.

Opposites attract. That is what they say. In some cases in our marriage, that is true. For instance when I wake up, I am a slug. Toni on the other hand is a rat on acid. Her energy is unbelievable and often makes me feel guilty that I am not up and being as productive as she is. This particular Sunday was no exception. I got about three sips of my coffee down before she spotted a place in our lawn that didn’t have posies planted.

“I am going to transplant some ivy over there by the driveway” she exclaimed. I thought to myself, “Seriously? Already? My arms don’t even work yet!” I just kind of looked at her with a dumb look on my face but the decision had been made. She was up in a flash and her rocking chair continued rocking from the vacuum of her quick departure, but empty as if there was a ghost in it . The good thing about how fast she got up was that I didn’t have to comb my hair later because the wind from her “jet” past me parted it, although in the wrong direction.

So there I sat in my rocker, in my pajamas, unshaven, limbs inoperable for the most part, feeling guilty. The ghost was a terrible conversationalist, so I had to make a decision. I decided to go grab a cap and wobble out to the driveway and try to help. My hope was to diminish the guilt associated with my lack of enthusiasm.

This was around 8:15 or so, the time when most people are headed to Sunday school. So I stood over Toni’s shoulder and asked if I could help to which she replied “No, I want these done a certain way.” Translation: “You are a moron and couldn’t possibly plant posies the way they should be planted.” The thought crossed my mind that I should just go back in the house and get dressed when I heard a rumbling behind me. “Naah, I thought, can’t be. It’s too early.” The rumbling got louder.

In a split second I realized that our neighbors, Tracy and Daryl were coming down the hill in their vehicle, family and all, headed to church. Before I knew it they were right behind me. “Oh GREAT!” I said. Toni turned to see me, in all my exasperated frustration, throw up my hands. “I am out here in my pajamas looking like a goober!” She collapsed in laughter. I am sure the neighbors heard and saw her hee-hawing.

So what would you do? I was busted, no doubt about it. Here is what I decided to do in the span of about a half a second. I yanked my pajama bottoms up to a level I affectionately call “Erkle level”, (socks and loafers exposed) spun my hat around to the side of my head, crossed my eyes, and tried to look like a rap star, in hopes that I wouldn’t be recognized. I learned later that it didn’t work and that I just looked stupid.

Defeated and embarrassed, I moped back to the house to get a shower and get dressed the right way, thinking two things:

  1. “Dang… I didn’t even have any Ambien,” and, 2. “I am going to start having my coffee on the deck out back.”

I hope you all have a great week. Thanks for reading. I would love to get your feedback. Just email me at

Ken Dulaney

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