The Toasty Pajama Zone Disorder ©

August 2005

By Tom Snyder

Before a recent June cruise Down East, I made a promise to myself that I would not sleep in my clothes for the entire month. I’m too old for that, and maybe even too dignified. If fact, I’m wicked mature. So, with a nice, conservative pair of pjs in my hanging locker, I left Massachusetts Bay for points east.

By June 15, it started getting cold at night. Really cold. I’m serious. I want to coin a salty expression for how cold it was. You have to be the real thing to make up a salty phrase that other people will actually use. Because I am not quite yet the real salty thing, there is a slight risk that my phrase could come off as intellectual or even effete. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, though, so let me tell you how cold it was – it was cold enough to manifestly disorient a vigorous seafarer©. That’s the one! Please use it.

My cruising guest for the week had me drop him off after only four days when it occurred to him that we were always cold – every minute of the day and night. We were never not cold. He was smart to go, and he didn’t go off in a huff. It was more like a shudder. Alone, I proceeded to a nifty spot – Harbor Island in Muscongus Bay. As I anchored, the air temperature was dropping below that of the water, which was 58 degrees.

Below, I made myself some tea, and the rain started. I made another cup, and the wind picked up real nice. I swear it was blowing hard enough to manifestly disorient a vigorous seafarer©. Honestly, this was one of those classic nights when a guy will decide to sleep in his clothes, but that wasn’t the plan. So I heated my pajamas above the stove in a thoroughly safe manner that involved a pot and several yards of tinfoil. I stopped the heating process when the pjs were just this side of too hot to touch. Then it took less than a minute to do the full clothing transfer which found me on the bunk, pj’ed, wrapped in several quilts and sipping on a third cup of tea. As I said earlier, wicked mature. And wicked cozy.

But now comes the part of this article that is somewhat of a psychological thriller, or at least a psychological oddity. I have discovered that a man bundled up in preheated pajamas will go to bizarre lengths to rationalize the significance of the sound of anchor chain dragging. The noise was unmistakable. If I had been in my clothes, I would have reluctantly thrown on foulies and gone up on deck for a look-see. But from within what I am now calling “the Toasty Pajama Zone©”, I was perfectly content to entertain theories that the chain was only dragging side to side or that it was the sound of someone else’s anchor chain. I am not kidding. I was turning into an insane person. I never once went on deck for the entire night. That is just not normal behavior for a guy sometimes referred to as Nervous Nellie and sometimes Gloomy Gus. Such is the influence of the, until now unreported, TPZ©.

Come morning, the boat had not dragged an inch, but that’s not the point. Am I ashamed by my behavior? Of course not. After all, it’s a disorder. I had TPZD© and shouldn’t be asked to be responsible for anything that happened. I think understanding and education is the real answer here. And research.

A truly adult Tom Snyder sails his Island Packet Blue Moon out of Peaks Island, Maine, where it’s quite difficult to find a really warm pair of pajamas.