Huh. Never thought I’d write that line on my blog, but then again, not all that shocking, really.
So. It all started with an innocent night of wine drinking in Lisbon. Which then led to an aggressive display of gin drinking, which then turned into an after party that carried on until mmmm, 5am or so. The usual.
Normally I don’t have to worry about inviting my friends back to my room for late night drinks because NORMALLY they keep their grabby, thieving hands to themselves. Normally. But of course the week had been pretty tame and so obviously it was time to start the mayhem and guess who was the target? Moi. Of course.
Because early in the night I had no intentions of inviting any of my friends back to my room, it was a mess and I didn’t bother to clean up. Clean up meaning hide my shit. And so there, like a prize to be won (or stolen), were my pajamas folded on my pillow, waiting for me to pull them on for bed.
Now when you look at them, you’re clearly going to be disappointed in me and wonder what the hell is wrong with me but I will remind you
1. Going to bed isn’t a fucking beauty pageant
2. They are seriously two of the most comfortable articles of clothing I own.
3. New England pride
4. I know they don’t match. I’m not fucking colorblind.
5. No girl wears lingerie to bed unless she’s trying to screw someone new.
Now. It’s me and the usual suspects and we’re now two bottles deep of Portuguese red, it’s 3am and we’re all behaving like we just had our first sip of alcohol in life. The maturity levels were at an all time low but we were having a blast talking about all things random and harassing each other like we were in high school all over again.
I had just finished putting the smack down on someone in one of my finest wrestling matches, which was really just me launching myself off a stool in the air, only to land on two friends, dropping an elbow and then running to the other side of the room to do it again. *Mature. I told you.
Anyway, I left the room to use the bathroom and when I came back in, everyone was looking at me and trying not to smile. Which always means they’re up to something. Whipping my head back and forth from one side of the room to the other, I see the loveliest vision of one of my guy friends standing in the middle of the room wearing my pjs.
He is like 6’4. I am 5 feet even. It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen until I was forced to wonder if he was wearing anything under them, and then it wasn’t as funny. Which he wasn’t. Not that I know of.
“Give me back my pajamas,” I shrieked.
“Make me,” he taunted. Everyone loved this.
“Make you? Those are MINE. Give them to me.” I was borderline whining.
“No.” Now I was starting to growl. And I was slightly horrified that everyone in the room now knew that I dress like a homeless person to bed. Jesus.
“Seriously. Take them off and give them to me. THEY ARE MY FAVORITES. Now.” I stuck out my hand and I think I probably stomped.
“Seriously. Make me.” Oh.fucking.really.
Then he made a face and it really was so funny that I just gave up. I told him I wanted them back the next day. He insisted on wearing them back to his room that night, which I completely understand because those pants are like silk on the ass. *heaven.
So. The next night at dinner, I hear two of the guys bidding on something at the end of the table. The one that has my pajamas is offering to sell them to the other.
“Did you just offer to pay for my pajamas?” I asked the one bidding.
“Yes, for 5 euro.” And then they were all smiles.
“First of all, they are worth way more than 5 euro. Second of all, you are not buying my goddamned pajamas. GIVE THEM BACK.”
“No. We’re going to actually go hang them on one of the guest room doors in some hall.” Oh sweet Jesus. Like a goddamned Easter egg hunt I’m going to have to search the halls to find my outfit so no one sees it and thinks I’m banging whoever is in that room. Because obviously pjs hanging on a door knob means relations. Fuck.
“OHNOYOUARENOT. UGH. Give THEM TO ME!” I was doing that white noise thing. It was only encouraging them.
“No. Now we are going to sell them on eBay. And then we’re using the money we win to pay for our drinks at the next conference. And we’re telling all of the countries.”
Awesome. 300 men from 40 countries, bidding on my dirty pajamas. Just another Thursday in Germany.
And so, since I have no shame, here is the link. You’ll have to cut and paste if you want to see it because I can’t get the damned link thing to work. But ANYWAY. Yes, those are mine and I will be buying back my own pajamas.
Also, yes, he found a mannequin to put them on, which is a whole bag of win in itself. Enjoy.