Last weekend I posted on Facebook that I stay in my pajamas all day on Sundays, unless I have to go out (not including trips to Walmart, because really, what’s the point of getting dressed just to go to Walmart?). I also mentioned that I sleep in SpongeBob flannel pajama pants and a tattered UCLA sweat shirt that I bought when I was in graduate school.
I got a lot of comments on that post, but the most interesting one came to me as a private message from an old college friend. He was a roommate I had when I was an undergrad at UC Berkeley. My junior year I lived in a big old house on the southeast corner of College Avenue and Durant, and shared it with three guys. We all had our own rooms, but had to share two bathrooms. Needless to say, this situation was not optimal for me. By spring the mound of dirty towels in the bathroom had turned into an organism that should’ve paid rent, plus I got tired of being the only one who changed the toilet paper roll.