A Comfortable Proposition From The Dudette

I’m really tired of dressing up all the time. What’s the point? Everyone says it’s what’s on the inside that counts, so let’s all start focusing on our insides and just be comfortable. I don’t want to have to be embarrassed about leaving the house looking like The Dude-my natural state in cold climates.

Ever since I was a little kid I have pretty much steered clear of staying overnight or spending any real amount of time at other people’s houses. It’s simply not comfortable. When I was little I lucked out and lived in Florida so I didn’t need to wear clothes at all. But now that I live in a cold place and I’m an adult, being naked would be considered indecent. Every day as soon as I get home my pants (trousers) are straight off and I’m in some sweats or yoga pants, a shirt and my man robe. It was supposed to be a robe for Adrian, but I was too lazy to lengthen the sleeves so I kept it for myself, and subsequently I have started looking more and more like The Dude on The Big Lebowski, minus the beard of course.

Poor Adrian. I bet he didn’t count on coming home to a wife who has acquired the look of someone named “The Dude.”

Seriously, nothing would make me happier than if all workplaces in the world made it a requirement that staff come to work in the most comfortable clothes possible and also supplied recliners for us to truly work in comfort. I had to take a health and safety “class” today, and a considerable portion of the “class” was spent on making sure I was sitting in my chair properly as to prevent pain. What about promoting comfort? I am convinced that people’s productivity would increase by at least 50% if we worked in recliners. That would take care of my constant fidgeting and need to walk around every 45 minutes. I’m fairly certain the creators of the laptop had a similar dream in mind.

Also, if I went to work in my lounging clothes I would be in a more relaxed, focused mood because I wouldn’t have to waste brain cells worrying about my hose getting ripped by someone accidentally brushing against me, or about the stupid little twist in my hair getting messed up by absent-mindedly scratching my head.

Sometimes I imagine the freedom I would feel walking around London with not a care in the world, my robe blowing gently behind me in the wind. What a life.

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