Pyjama Botherers

This story by the Irish Times had made it into the papers in Finland, too. Yup. The dole office in question had felt is necessary to point out to its customers that pyjamas aren't appropriate clothing to wear while visiting their establishment. I had a moment of quiet desperation. They had to point it out. The people showing up to supposedly apply for jobs, wearing their pyjamas, had to be told to smarten up a bit. Oh, mercy!

I can't really say that I'm surprised, to be honest. I've seen girls (yes, it's almost always girls) slouching about in the supermarket in their pyjama bottoms, hoodies and Uggs. (I hate Uggs, too.) It makes me wonder at what stage do you stop caring about your appearance in public? The contradiction here is, that these same girls will more than likely spend the best part of two hours getting ready for a night out; choosing their clothes, doing their hair and make-up.

Maybe it's a cultural difference, with me having been brought up in Finland, where especially this time of year going outside in anything less than four layers of thermals is simply unheard of. Was I to meet someone in their pyjamas walking down the street in Finland, my first reaction would be to check all the psychiatric wards in the vicinity to see if they were missing someone in their latest head count. Maybe I'm just unable to appreciate the freedom that comes with not caring what people may think of you when you're walking down the shops in your Primark finest. Bulls**t.

The thing is, I bloody love pyjamas. I have dozens. In different colours, materials, sleeve lengths. Dress ones, short ones, long ones, full ones, sets and singles. I have them all and I love wearing them. At home. Indoors. On the couch watching telly. In bed. The most fresh air my pyjamas get, is if I'm putting a bin out in the morning, and even then I reach out the back door and drop the bag in the bin just outside the back door. I may be seen by an occasional sheep and sometimes my next door neighbour. She is more than likely to be in her pyjamas, putting out her bin at that hour, too.

Yes, pyjamas are infinitely more comfortable than most appropriate day wear. They're built for comfort, not for style. Saying that, I am currently sporting quite fetching pyjama bottoms in grey and white checked pattern teamed with a t-shirt. I'm half dressed, but then I am at home, not out and about. Farhad Manjoo wrote about why he loves staying in pyjamas for the whole day. That's fine, you work from home! I'm pretty sure I'd be given my P45 as soon as I stepped my slippered foot in through the doors of my workplace.

And while I'm ranting, let's hear something about the dreaded onesie. It's what babies wear, right? No. There are grown people, all over the world wearing these hideous garments as pyjamas, or "loungewear", as they're being marketed. I think you could give up on normal life the moment you find yourself inside a onesie. The first time I saw one, was on Scrubs. I thought it to be an entirely fictional piece of clothing. How wrong was I? I shudder, they're horrid, and I can only imagine the stink inside one of them after you've spent a day (and a night, and a day) in one. Yuck.

Rant over. As you were.

Onesie photo from here

Scrubs photo from here

Quickie

Hello! I'm still here even though you might say otherwise judging by the frequency of my posting lately. Work is somehow building up to the annual crescendo of hordes of Italian tourists which marks the end of the season. Italian tourists travelling in groups are noisy, they seldom speak anything else than Italian or Louder Italian, are impatient right up until the the moment they're being served at which point they lose all sense or urgency and consideration towards those waiting to be served after them and can come across as a little bit ignorant.

I'm not saying that's all Italians, I'm only pointing out what I have personally observed. I'm also glad that these same Italian tourists have a sense of humour. They laugh at the fact that they don't understand what I'm saying or that I don't understand what they're saying. There's a lot to be said for the remedial properties of an espresso. Or the fact that someone knows how to say please and thank you in Italian. But click your fingers in my face one more time and I will magically run out of espresso just as you're coming up to collect yours. Just saying.

Anyway, I took a few snaps the last few days. Apparently one of our neighbours is hiding a pot of gold under their house. I'm sneaking over tonight with a shovel just to be sure. And then there's that sunset. I actually sat on our front step for a while, just admiring it. Our neighbour's fat doggie waddled over to keep me company. How she managed to crawl under the fence I really don't know, I'm expecting to see her stuck there any day now. So there. That's what I've been at. I'll get back to you with something more relevant next week.

Miss manners

Is there such a thing as too good manners?

We’re all told how important it is to have good manners; say “please” and “thank you”, smile, ask how the other person is, not to offend anyone, etc. But I have actually begun to wonder whether or not it’s always the best thing to do. I mean, there’s good manners and then there’s being a door mat?

I used to be terrible at complaining at restaurants. I remember sifting through soup which resembled baby food in texture, and out of date milk in flavour. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself or to our table in this small, intimate restaurant. I was sure the horrid soup was an one-off incident and felt that I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it. I know now I should’ve sent it back seeing as it was my money that I was spending on what I was expecting to be nice, tasty food.

If somebody bumps into me on the street, I always turn to apologise even when it isn’t my fault. I know it’s not my fault but I do it anyway. Why, I’m not entirely sure. Probably for the same reason I’d clean my house before a cleaner got in to make it easier for them to get to work. Same method in the madness drove me to clean my car before getting in professionally valeted and to do my hair before going to the hairdresser in case she thought I wasn’t looking after her creation well enough.

Yesterday I sat at my hairdresser’s chatting away when she asked me if wanted tea or coffee. Now anybody who knows me, knows that I truly love my coffee. My coffee maker at home is one of the ones which grinds the beans at the press of a button making the coffee so beautifully fresh it makes me wonder how I ever drank filter coffee. I don’t even recognise instant coffee as being coffee. So, when asked, I of course asked for coffee. I was presented with a mug of brown water with a drop of milk in it. I dutifully said “thank you” and took a sip. It was vile. Did I say something? No, of course not. That would’ve been rude. Or would it?

All this is utterly ridiculous, I know. But I’m not the only one doing it. I’ve seen it happen so many times in so many different places it really got me thinking, who do we think we’re doing a favour to by carrying on like this? How many women will walk out of their hairdresser of 8 years sporting a look they don’t like just because they don’t want to offend someone they’ve known for so long? It’s hardly going to be beneficial to you, walking around looking like something out of the 80’s, and certainly not beneficial to the hairdresser because everyone is going to wonder who did that to you and you are going to tell. That happened to a friend of mine who wore hats for a week and then changed her hairdresser to one who actually listened to her.

I have mended my ways since the soup incident. If I’m paying for something, I do want it to be the way I like it. There’s always the problem of overstepping the line and landing all the way across to the land of the obnoxious, but let’s not go there. Having worked in the hospitality industry I can tell The Moaner a mile away. The one who will, without a fail, find something to complain about. It’s usually the price, or size, or temperature of the food. I met a Moaner once who complained her soup wasn’t hot enough. I heated it up to a boiling point, brought it back to her and had her turn around and complain that now it was too hot to eat. What can I say? You wouldn’t have problems like that with salad.

Lack of manners can be just as irritating as having too much manners. Asking for something without adding “please” to the end of the sentence sounds rude. I find it quite fascinating how fast I adopted frowning upon people who don’t say “please” considering how my native tongue doesn’t even have a corresponding word. We have 48 for “hangover”, though. Us Finns, hilarious. Being met by the Americanisms such as “Lemme have the...”, “Gimme the...” and “I’m gonna have the...” makes me cringe. There’s no excuse for not being polite, especially if you’re speaking the same language. Some faux pas’ can be forgiven because there is a language barrier. “Please” barked at you in a German accent is going to sound aggressive no matter how much you try. I German friend of mine, a lovely, pleasant and polite young man still says “I will have...” rather than “I would like to have...”. Unless I’m there to correct him, obviously.

I think I’m done now...Thank you for reading. Do pop by again soon. Please.