LAUREL COUNTY, Ky. — In my first column in a few weeks, I considered writing about the government shutdown and how tired I am of the political brinkmanship that has paralyzed Washington and how other countries are wondering what the heck we’re doing.
Naw, Congress doesn’t need any consideration from me. Those people don’t represent my interests anymore. I’m not going to vote for any of them, so there’s no use raising a finger to type anything about them. Well, maybe raising just the middle finger will suffice.
I was going to write something nice about our own Mitch McConnell after he used his immense political skills to jump into the breach and work out a compromise to end the shutdown.
Naw, that was Mitch just doing the job we elected him to do. He doesn’t get any positive ink because it’s been his leadership of the Party of No and his tireless, though unsuccessful, efforts to make Barack Obama a one-term president that contributed greatly to the poisonous atmosphere currently in Washington.
I’m going to write about something near and dear to my heart and something extremely important to me this time of year: fuzzy pajama pants.
It’s going to be 29 degrees later in the week, so it’s time to break out my favorite heavy sweater with the old paint stains and the burn holes from escaped pipe tobacco embers. Combine that with fleece-lined pajamas, insulated socks and a pair of cushy Dearfoams and my winter attire is complete.
When I come home from a long day at work in the winter, the first thing I do is slip into my warm, comfy clothes. The house is always cold, thanks to a menopausal wife who controls the thermostat with the help of guard dogs, a perimeter fence and a cattle prod. I can’t touch it to get a little heat going, so I just bundle up.