Pajama Game
Wed., August 13, 10:25 PM
Yeah, yeah, I know it’s a pajama party, but The Pajama Game was always one of my favorite shows. I don’t like two entries in a day, but Golfwidow and Tatnan are having a virtual pajama party at midnight, and asked me if I was planning to come. I declined.
- I do not have unlimited minutes for chatting
- I do not stay up until midnight if I can possibly avoid it. I will just post early.
- I’m not into photography on line much – maybe some virtual chips and dip or something. Come to think of it, didn’t I already provide some non-virtual – never mind.
- I sleep in a T-shirt in the summer and sweats in the winter – haven’t bothered with real pajamas since I discovered sweats.
Fine, says Golfwidow, then tell us about the pajama party when… I had forgotten about that one. Sleepovers were not especially popular in our gang, because so many people – my best friend Bunny and I among them – lived in cramped quarters and had to share bedrooms. There simply wasn’t enough privacy for a group of girls in their nighties to congregate.
When we got to high school, however, we became friendly with A, who not only had her own bedroom but her own furniture set. Her parents had bought the set, including a double bed, when she got too big for kids’ furniture; the idea was that she would then take it with her when she got married. (I wonder whether she ever did; we were no longer close by the time she got married.)
Anyhow, for some reason that I can’t recall – Fourth of July weekend, maybe – Bunny and I were sleeping at A’s. I don’t think we called it that, but it was a real slumber party. Double bed, lots of room, and parents who were there in case of emergency but wouldn’t interrupt us otherwise. And we talked a lot – we always talked a lot, mostly about boys – and did whatever girls at slumber parties do. (We did not, however, freeze anyone’s bra. I think that custom evolved in later generations, when everyone actually had freezers.) The problem came when it was time to go to sleep, and we really needed to get some sleep to prepare for the next day and whatever special activity was on the agenda. And someone – somehow – amused me. I didn’t want to keep anyone up, so I tried not to laugh. Now, whenever I attempt to smother laughter… I shake. In this case, it wasn’t just that I was shaking, the whole darn bed was vibrating. And of course, the more I tried to stop, the worse it got. It was at least another hour before we got to sleep.
I no longer remember what was so funny, and the whole story sounds pretty lame to me now. The only reason my kids even know about it is that there’s a note from A in my high school yearbook: “when you come over next week, I expect you to sleep and not shake the bed apart.”
