It's a Rant, It's a Rave, it's Pantless Wednesday!

Tax season was over and I had a day off.  I called it "Pantsless Wednesday" and made a big deal about it on my page.  I *think* it was funny.  You never know how these things are going to go over.  But here’s the thing about Pantsless Wednesday.  It’s a metaphor <ed. note: Really!>  Yah, because it wasn’t really about not wearing physical pants.  I seriously could not do that.  Even if there were no one around.  I mean, I have leather furniture.  Sticky.  Like riding in a car on a hot day with shorts on and no AC.  No.  Pantsless Wednesday was about shedding the pants of everyday responsibility.  Do what I want to do when I want to do it, because goddamnit I’m entitled.  One fucking day.  Oh, poor me.  

But you knew that.  You knew it wasn’t about going around without pants on, though that’s funny to say and think about.  More just about not holding your stomach in, not answering the phone, flipping off the computer screen when you open up an email from the goddamn motherfucking PTA.   Please.   Just a day where you don’t have to think about anybody else but yourself and maybe your dog.  Because if you are going to make it through your life without opening a vein, you are going to have to have a day now and again to regroup.   

My next door neighbor actually uses that word with her two-year-old.  “Do you need to regroup? I think you need to regroup.”  Seriously?  He’s two.   I can’t decide if this is reprehensible or hilarious or both.  I may end up deciding that it’s very cool.  I haven’t got my neighbor figured out yet.  I have so very little figured out.  It’s troubling.  Anyway.  She says “You need to regroup” instead of “You need a time out.” Which is what we said to our kids fifteen years ago.  When I was a kid they didn’t say anything.  You just got a look.

I learned a lot on Pantsless Wednesday.    To wit:

There is a streetsweeper in my town.  That comes to my neighborhood on Pantsless Wednesday.  Cul-de-sacs too.  Even tiny ones like mine where the driver has to make a three-point turn to get all the way around the car that was thoughtlessly parked there by some dumbshit who didn't know there was a streetsweeper in her neighborhood on Pantsless Wednesday.  Oops.

On Pantsless Wednesday, the bike trail is pleasantly quiet at 10:30 a.m.    On Pantsless Wednesday, the same is true for the lap pool at 2:00 p.m.  But pants or no pants, two workouts in one day are  not as good for an aging body as they are for an aging soul.

On Pantsless Wednesday, I learned that my daughter's coffee is almost as good as mine, but also way better than mine.  I didn’t make it, she did.  That adds a dimension to the flavor that is indescribably delicious.   Even better, she left for school before I got up.  Thank you, baby.

On Pantsless Wednesday, I learned that apparently I mean a lot to the staff at my local Trader Joe's.  Three of them stopped to smile at me and ask me where I'd been for the last few weeks.  The guy in the liquor department was a little disappointed to see that he'd be working harder to keep the shelves stocked, though, now that I'll be a regular there again.  But in general, the mood was upbeat.  

Everyone needs Pantsless Wednesday now and again.  Everyone needs to shake off that squeezy feeling in their chest that something’s fucked up and people are looking at you and shaking their heads and wondering why you haven’t fixed it yet.  Everyone needs to run in the sunshine with their dog when the trail is not crowded.  Everyone needs to regroup.  Like a two year old.  Like a boss.  Like a two-year-old boss.