What do you wear when no one is there? Like that tree in the forest, does what you wear matter if no one sees it? In my day I have probably tackled all the scenarios:
1) Wear your grubbiest, most broken in and most comfortable one-step-short-of-the-rag-bin garments.
2) Change into purpose-bought "at home" clothes usually referred to as "lounge wear"— too good for bed but not meant for street wear.
3) Don't even bother to change out of work clothes until you fall into bed.
4) Recycle what was trendy and fun a few seasons ago, but is a little tired and/or pilled today.
And here's what happened:
1) Those worn out garments, soft as downy chick feathers and twenty shades from their original colors, are Giving Up. It's depressing that you knowingly choose to put those on, let alone keep them stashed somewhere within reach. Does not count if you are about to strip furniture or rake leaves.
2) Spurred on by some crazy logic, I decided that "at home" clothes required a dollars-and-cents investment. Once, when summarily let go from a job, I bought a rainbow-striped turtleneck to wear as I sent off resumes and cleaned dresser drawers. That sweater was my scarlet letter. Putting it on signaled another day of house arrest. First new paycheck = turtleneck in donate bin.
3) In this scenario stains (of the cooking and eating variety) require a committed relationship with your dry cleaner. Once fallen into bed, changing out of work clothes is optional.
4) This is what I seem to be doing lately, easing the too-good-for-Goodwill/too-tired-for-town into their next life at the thrift shop.
