Every day Westword receptionist Steve Burge gives you the fashionable view from the front desk.
Remember college?
That magical time when anything was possible? When you were sure you were going to rule the world? When you could wear your pajamas in public?
Come to think of it, college was like elementary school in many ways. A lot of the same rules applied, didn’t they?
I had no idea I had anything to be ashamed of in elementary school. I had no idea my life would be anything but thrilling or I would be anyone but a fireman-astronaut who moonlighted as a movie star and/or Superman in elementary school. And if I woke up late, and the elephant shaped pancakes my mom made for my sister and me demanded to be savored because they were just too fun to rush through, so be it. My sister and I would go to school in sweat pants and mismatched socks, sporting a rogue clump of syrup on the t-shirts we probably wore to bed the night before and somehow, everything was still all right.
Somewhere in middle school, though, something happened. Cliques were formed and name-brands were a must, and by high school I was all too aware of the fact that life wasn’t going to be easy and that the world was a little less beautiful and available than I had originally thought.
But in college, it wasn’t long before I remembered that I could do anything again. And if I woke up late, and ran to the dining room in my sweats and found my new best friend and the morning coffee and conversation demanded to be savored because it was a little too fun to rush, so be it. I’d go to class in my pajamas and, lo and behold, so would have most everyone else.
Trisha wore her slippers to work today. And pajamas worn in public is a sign that everything will be all right, right? Just ask a kindergartner or college freshman.
- Steven J. Burge
