Story of the Day 2/ 2/ 2013

It was my birthday, which it actually wasn't.
That is because my birthday occurred mid-week and none of us felt energetic enough to celebrate it ,even though celebrating birthdays in our home is always on the low energy output part of the spectrum.

A typical birthday is celebrated by a slightly nicer than usual dinner with a cake or cookies following it, the opening of some cards and a few gifts- usually selected by the recipient and also ordered by them, and then given to the spouse or parent to wrap, which means tossing it into a somewhat crumpled-from-many-uses gift-bag.

Oh, we also sing or sign "Happy Birthday". Very pathetically. But we do.

At any rate, the rearrangement of the actual date happens rather regularly, so having it on Friday evening,a mere two days after my actual birthday, was somewhat standard.
So were the cards.
There was no cake in evidence, though.
I had looked over the options at Trader Joe's and the only things that looked good were not marked kosher. And the selection of kosher stuff at Kroger's was even worse.
My husband, however, had a chocolate bar he had been keeping in his car, and he brought it out- well, actually in, for the occasion.

Ely had sent a package ( I slit that and the gift from Lynne open before Shabbat) and at the bottom was another one of his fabulous books, and then my husband pulled out this gift to me- both of them, wrapped together in a box from some printer paper around which he had looped a ribbon from something else. Inside was a necklace I had bought on ebay for $6.54 including shipping, and a pair of pajamas. They were exactly what I wanted, since I had bought them on clearance at Target.

I thanked him effusively. I also tod him that I might have another pair of pajamas he could give me- this other pair purchased on clearance from Kohl's, but they were still in the bag, two weeks after I purchased them.

Why?
Sarah seemed to think them inappropriate for her mother to wear.
My husband raised his eyebrow, so I started to explain the problem with the pajamas.

You see, the top is black, but the pajama pants have a black and white zebra stripe print.
Sarah interrupted me ,at this point, to emphatically state to her father that they were " slutty".

My response was, "I find it hard to believe that pajamas that are made out of polar fleece could be classified as slutty."
Even if the print is zebra stripes.