Jam Jams

It’s not a city if you’re wearing pajamas around it. It’s a town. I dubbed Missoula, Montana “not a city” long ago, but once I wore jams in public for Halloween and no one could guess who I was—a person who wears pajamas in public—, I was further distraught about no longer living in a city. There was one woman, one, who guessed my persona and she is from New York City. 

I reckon some will claim a certain store, located in many cities, as a jam locale, but this place is its own district where it’s legal to sleep outside. In Madrid, one-hundred percent forget about it. Madrileños meticulously wear no more and no less than three colors at once, and they are not lined up between rows of snowflakes and deer. Post Halloween, I started looking at legs around town and there were jams in breweries, coffee shops, and movie theaters. I wouldn’t be surprised if these were on first dates. I saw them in organic grocery stores and on day hikes. I wear jams post hikes post bath. Do people hike in one pair, shower, and then put on another? This is terrible for one’s circadian rhythm and it interferes with energy levels to accomplish life goals, unless all goals have been met and they now aim to be comfortable ad infinitum. I inquired into this, still wearing my costume, and asked a local journalist and a public-school teacher. They both said with excitement, “Those are leggings!” Like freedom of speech, leggings have become a loose term. I’d rather be confronted with jeggings, which took time but now I comprehend and don, but around here even those get me the comment, “I like your leggings.” Alas, Halloween has gifted me another motivator to take off to Europe next summer and max it out to the ninety-day tourist visa mark.