”Wear the baseball pajamas! Please?”
     ”No. They’re dirty.”
     ”Aww…how about those new, gray, soft, cuddly ones with the hoody?”
     ”I was going to wear those anyway.”
     ”Yaaay! Woo-hoo!”
     ”Shut up, you dork.”

     I’m an enthusiastic supporter of cute pajamas. Some guys like lingerie, or lacy teddies, or pasties, or whatever. But nothing is quite so sexy as a cute two piece pajama set.
     I am not talking about night-gowns here. Those suck. I mean, there’ll be plenty of time to wear night-gowns later. Like when nurse Francis is helping me lace up the back while getting ready for pudding night at Sunset Gardens Retirement Community.
     And I’m not talking about plain boxers or even panties and bra (although that sort of outfit is not without merit.)
     No, I’m talking about a nice two-piece set of pajamas that are comfortable and cuddly, and have a pleasing theme.
     I apologize for the poor quality of the photo here. Heather is very camera shy. Actually, that’s too mild a statement. Heather is actually convinced that the camera will steal her soul and allow a demon to possess her body.
     She hails from a very primitive Detroit tribe, and I’m so proud of how far she’s come.
     In many ways, she is an inspiration to the animistic English and Scottish masses here in Southeast Michigan. You go, cave-girl!
     But, despite having put her traditional blood-letting, self mutilation, and tribal warfare behind her, she continues to fear the camera. I wanted to show you how awesome her new pajamas were, however, so this sneak-shot is the best I can do. Afterwards I had to flee for my life and spent a nervous three hours hiding beside the upstairs toilet, clutching my camera in one hand and a forgotten tube of “Comet” bathroom cleanser in the other. I had much time to think about Heather in pajamas.
     She walks toward me, and I can’t help but admire her figure, her cleavage, and the sweet presentation the adorable set makes. She walks away from me, and I have the urge to rush up behind her, wrap my arms around her shoulders, parallel park my head and try to sneak some kisses.
     In bed, I lay my hand upon her side, appreciating the soft texture of her pajama top, feeling the warmth of her body pushing through the fabric with undeniable energy and I silently mark the motion of her steady breathing as I drift off to sleep. Times like that, with the weight of the feather-down comforter pressing down on us both like a great, limp duck-press*, and a cute baseball uniform made entirely out of terry cloth wrapped around my wife’s frame, I finally understand that the cliche of “marital bliss” can be a simple truth.
     Did I mention the tartan PJs? Well, sometimes she wears them. They have a matching solid colored top which she fills quite well, but I only have eyes for the pants. The curves of her fine rear and shapely thighs influence and break the lines of the classic tartan patterns making her look like a lovely 19th century illustration, one with exquisite hatching lending it a third dimension it has no entitlement to.
     Satin drawstring shorts and crop-top? Oh, yes.
     Terry cloth baseball uniform with capris style bottoms? Yes, please! Oh, but they are dirty tonight, she said. Oh, bother.
     Which brings us to the pictured pajama set. You are the first to hear the news: this velour outfit, which includes an incredible pair of pants, a tank top with built-in bra, and a matching low-cut hoody sweatshirt, is now my new official Favorite Heather Pajamas. *clap-clap-clap!*
     If only Heather felt about them as I do. Don’t get me wrong, she likes ‘em ok. But she doesn’t understand my appreciation of what, to her, is merely sleepwear. Her bemused smile could be patronizing, but I choose to consider it endearing. Look, I’m endeared! Yaay!
     ”Shut up, you dork.”
     So now, friends, I’m going to go upstairs, hug the incomparable woman in these pajamas, and sleep until I wake.

• *It seemed like a reasonable metaphor at the time. A little less so in retrospect.