One morning I shot an elephant in my pyjamas. How he got into my pyjamas I'll never know.
I have a theory.
A pyjama shaped theory.
My pyjama drawer is filled to the brim. When I get home from wherever, more often than not I’ll throw some on, even if I’m going back out again later. Most of my pyjama bottoms are cute prints (gingham checks and pink hearts) but several sizes too large for ultimate slobby comfort. I used to team these with camisoles. However, at some point during the last three years, wearing a bra to bed stopped being a bad habit and became a necessity. I got a giant, stupidly comfortable, hilariously ugly bra and have never looked back. As you can imagine, such a bra teamed with adorable camisoles is not a winning match. So I traded in my camisoles for huge, cover all man shirts. All in all, when wearing pyjamas I look like, well, a guy. But not only that; I act more like a guy too. My usually messy behaviour is amplified. As a would be actress, my ‘costume’ really does affect my mood. So I figure, if I start wearing nice pyjamas, feminine pyjamas, Princess-worthy pyjamas, my slobby, messy problem may well just be eradicated.
The hunt is on.
In my defence, I never said my pyjama shaped theory was a good one...