We’ve all been there. The TV is four feet away but you need to find the remote so as not to dislodge yourself from the comfy corner of the couch. All of sudden its 8pm and you realize you haven’t changed out of your pajamas. There are chocolate stains on your favorite sweater and your hair is a perfect mess of tangles. You look down and there is a sizable amount of chip dust as far as you can reach…Sound familiar?
These might be the tell-tale signs of a sick day at home from work, or a lazy Sunday around the house. Right about now, this sounds like total and utter paradise…oh, to be a sloth and feel no need to rush anywhere or do anything with urgency… Your couch: procrastination station. You: one ticket please! Paradise.
Shortly after Brad and I got engaged we briefly moved up north. He had just begun his first proper cooking job and we thought it would be great to live alone for a while. I had taken a hiatus from the theatre world and figured being out of the city would encourage me to focus on writing. It didn’t.
It gave me permission to give into my gluttonous behavior, I gained at least 15 pounds, and became a complete sloth. I missed living in the city, hated my job and was completely depressed being on my own so much. So, I did what any woman would do in my situation, I went shopping. Did I mention I was working retail? I will now try and validate this embarrassing story by stating that I received a ridiculous discount and at that point I could afford to buy designer labels…as if those facts make it somehow better. I know it doesn’t. Anyway, I bought some sweatpants…and some slippers. Okay fine! I bought a Juicy Couture track suit and Uggs. I told myself, I SWORE that I would never wear them outside the apartment. They would be my guilty pleasure and I would indulge only when at home by myself. I was not this girl; I would never be that girl. I laughed like hell every time I saw it out in public. It was the ugliest outfit ever, so lazy, like laughing in the face of actual fashion. Loungewear, HA! Who wears this shit? It’s still as bad as wearing Costco brand.
Goddamnit if it wasn’t comfy. The slippers were like walking on clouds and the velour fit so easily it was like wearing a second layer of skin. It took about two months until I completely submitted and things got out of control. The first time I just went to check the mail. So innocent. Then I ventured to the gas station. THEN…the grocery store. Nooooo!!! It was all over after that. It got to the point where, if I was making plans with someone, they would kind of mention that we would be going into public…like, not a place for sweatpants. They aren’t sweat pants! I would argue, and it’s not like I wear them in public! The look in their eyes started to say, “Really? Because I swear I saw you wear them to QFC like…yesterday.” The jig was up. So I started questioning whether or not I would go anywhere at all. Once the sweat pants were on, I was in for the night…or day.
Then one day my little brother looked at me and compared my “fashionable” sweat pants to a pair that my mom wore when we were kids.
He and I had stood together side by side as we threw that atrocious pair away. Sneaking them out of the laundry, as my Dad turned a blind eye; they made it to the garage and never came back. As the memory faded, I knew exactly what I had to do. I was only in my early twenties. This was not going to be me. I went cold turkey without sweats (or cupcakes) for months before I bought some proper yoga pants and kicked my ass back into gear. Maddie however, doesn’t give them up so easy. As soon as she turns 65 they come on and stay on.
Now just to be clear 65, is not old. I firmly believe that age is just a number and that the aging process is not reflected by a calendar year at all. Though when I thought about Maddie’s character later on in her life, I knew, deep down in my bones, that by age 65 she would make “old-age” excuses. She would truly enjoy not doing a damn thing. In her mind, she has been through it all and sitting around in her sweats drinking wine is her reward for a life of endless sinning. If she enjoys doing nothing and it truly gives her enjoyment, why feel bad about it?
That’s a question only a priest can answer.