I wear yoga pants

I wear yoga pants. Oh, you heard me. I said it. Not only do I wear yoga pants, but here’s my dirty little secret: I don’t care what people think of my wearing yoga pants. Not only do I wear yoga pants when I’m actually, you know, practicing yoga, but I work from home, sit at a computer all day and I’m writer when I’m not working. I like to be comfortable doing it. Sometimes during my day, I have to leave my house and run an errand and I’m simply not changing clothes and getting all dolled up to run to the bank, and, oh, whoops, turns out I need to go to the post office, too. Now, I’ve gotten out of my car in two places wearing yoga pants.

I read an article recently that talked about when it’s acceptable to wear yoga pants. The blogger was all in a tizzy because apparently, women have taken to wearing yoga pants on planes. You know, those big metal birds in the sky with the small, cramped seating, uncomfortable terminal chairs, and two hour security line. Those things.

What this blogger seems to have missed is that there is a whole social movement happening right now, and has been happening for some time, that says what’s currently out is telling women how they look, act, dress, wear their hair, etc. isn’t good enough. Women are actually under the impression nowadays that they can leave their house in something that’s comfortable for them and judging them for it is passe. I think these bloggers are fearing for their jobs.

This blogger wasn’t writing for Vogue or Marie Claire of Vanity Fair or another magazine that’s fashion driven that people tend to pick up and read to find out what they should wear. No, she was on Yahoo. Where millions of women log on to on a given day to get their news and email. Instead of embracing the fact that women are no longer standing for being told by the media what image is acceptable for them to have, she’s screaming about yoga pants. The every day woman wears yoga pants. Would I wear them to a bar, a restaurant, the theater? No. But yes, I’ll wear them when I run to the library.

If you’re going to write for a publication geared to actual, everyday women, with actual everyday concerns, you should probably start focusing on things these women care about. Things such as her worry that her child is gluten intolerant and maybe she needs to change their diet; the fact that she pulled up the national sex offender registry and saw that there’s a registered sex offender two streets over from her house; how she’s going to pay for braces; is that lump she discovered in the shower fatty tissue or something to be concerned about; the fact that she’s working the same job as the man next to her at work with the same qualifications and she’s making less money to do it; and, oh, I don’t know, the current Syrian crisis or other pesky world issues.

Because the everyday woman cares about these things. She needs more time in her day. She needs to go through her kid’s dresser to pull out clothes that are too small and replace them with clothes that fit. She needs more pepper spray for her purse because she gets off work when it’s dark and lives in a city with a less than impressive crime rate. She needs to take the dog to the vet. She needs to make an appointment to get her teeth cleaned. She needs to make it to the bank before it closes. She only gets an hour for lunch. She has problems. And the fact that out of touch and judgmental bloggers think she shouldn’t be comfortable while handling her problems, isn’t actually one of them.


The Mental Health Day

I can usually feel mine coming on. A few days before, there will be mornings that I just don’t want to get out of bed. I think of plenty of reasons not to, excuses I can come up with for my job, but inevitably, responsibility gets the better of me, and I haul my lazy ass out of my incredibly comfortable, king-size, pillow top bed, and drag my sorry ass into my office to work.

But it never fails. Once that pattern manifests itself, there will soon be a morning when you’re just not going to do it. That morning when you say, “Screw the man! I’m staying the hell home because I want to! I’m not sick at all. I’m just sick of the routine.”

Then comes the decision on what to say when you call your boss. Do you fake an illness? Blame it on your kid? Or just fess up and say you’re taking a mental health day? Depending on which particular supervisor I get, I’ll either go with the ask-no-questions “stomach bug,” or just say, “Listen, if I don’t take today off, I’m going to quit.” If you’re good at your job and a valued employee, they’ll take that seriously and not give you crap about it.

So, now that you’ve called in, what do you do? Do you pull a Ferris Bueller and do absolutely everything you can think of, run errands that you didn’t get to over the weekend, or just lay low and watch t.v. all day.

The one thing I avoid at all costs on a mental health day is errands. For the love of Christmas, this is a spontaneous day off to feed your soul. Does the mower really need to get to the repair shop that day? No, and it’s only going to make your car smell like gasoline. I like to lay low myself. Catch up on my reading, empty out my DVR. Inevitably though, I do feel a little bit guilty. I feel like I need to earn the day in my p.j.s, contributing to society or the economy in no way, and I usually do a little cleaning. A little cleaning though.