Dearest Pyjama People,

You may find it a little strange that I am writing this letter to you, when the most interaction we’ve ever really ever had is the occasional uncomfortable “hello” as I’ve tried to squeeze my way past you both to retrieve pizza flyers and junk mail from my mailbox.

Is it fate that brings us together at our mailboxes at the same, different time each day? Or, do you stay there even long after I have gone – waiting for a snail mail apology or an invitation somewhere beyond the stuffy lobby of our building – an invitation to a place that requires a touch more sophistication than the flannels I have become so accustomed to seeing?

Will she, the tall vulgar-mouthed mistress who I have heard swearing at small children, be wearing the blue nightgown again? The one with the sheep stretched to their capacity as they jump faded fences across her ample stomach? Will he, the funny looking, small pudge of a man who often cowers behind his mate to avoid being seen, be donning the green, red or camouflage print fleece pants today? Or perhaps, now that the summer is here, his light grey cotton jammies with the red spaghetti-o stain? Oh goodness, I hope it is a spaghetti-o stain!

I wonder dear pyjama aficionados, connoisseurs of all that is comfy, if you realize that your sleepwear collection is often dinnertime conversation. Or, that on a particularly lazy day I made a parody of a Bob Marley song with you in mind– “Pyjamas! Pyjamas, pyjamas, pyjamas, I hope you like pyjama’s too”.

I have often thought of setting my alarm clock to wake me from my midnight slumber, so I might sneak downstairs to the first floor. With a light, “tap, tap, tap” and a childish grin, I would stand in the hall outside your door in my best PJs as your shadow casts behind the peephole, looking out at my fisheye shape before you.

But what, I would ponder, would you be wearing at this time of night? If you wear your best nightwear in the day time, perhaps in the evening behind closed doors is when you wear your ball gowns and three-piece suits.

But this I am afraid I will never know. If I knew the reasons why, even when I perchance see you in the laundry room - your basket void of t-shirts, jeans or dresses that you should choose to be seen even at the store in your nighties, one of my daily, small simple pleasures would be demystified. Then what would come next – discovering the meaning of life? Some things in life are best left as mysteries.

Although our conversations will likely never go beyond that quiet hello, please know that as I walk away with mail in hand and board a creaky elevator to the 6^th floor, that I also take with me a smile as I look forward to my next polka dot or silver moonbeam reception.

Sincerely,
Your mailbox neighbour