They organized a pajama party at the Old Folks Boarding House where I live.
Began at 11:08 pm. Know time because I had just gone to bed when the ringing started. Alarmed me. Oh No, don’t want to go the hospital. Thought the ringing was in my head. Started to telephone son-in-law, a retired physical therapist, for guidance. That’s when one of the staff appeared at my bed. Said I had to get up and leave room. Fire Drill!
I had house shoes by the bed, grabbed my robe off the hanger, released the brakes on my walker, and sped–well, walked fast–following the old ones already down the hall. When I reached the living room, many of the forty-some residents had arrived. A fashion show of pajamas.
Noted the lady in the long, silver sleepshirt was barefooted. Most elderly ladies wore robes over nightclothes. Some old men, who think they are still young, wore their golf short pants. When I looked to pocket my iPhone, discovered I was wearing my robe inside out. One pajama-party-goer laughed when I corrected. Resisted telling him his golf pants exposed boney knees.
Most ladies stayed calm. Some promenaded. One gramdma started to run out the front door. A father of nine, with even many more grandkids, stopped her.
The fire crew returned. Sounded all clear. “No Fire.” Some water contraption broke and ignited the alarm. “Go back to your rooms and check if you have any water on the floor.” Didn’t.
Here to tell you, those old gals modeled some good-looking robes over their nightclothes. Old men looked pretty ragged. Not sure we’ll get invited to a pajama party again.
Photo at Shutterstock
