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Good evening.
And when I say "evening", I'm struck by a question that gnaws upon my soul and numbs my spirit.
One which neither the great heros of human history nor the ancient Greek philosophers have managed to answer:
How often should you wash your pajamas?
Not even mothers know that one.
We don't know anything about pajamas...
What do we know?
They're useful as a gift...
...and useless for actually sleeping in.
The buttons won't let you. They dig into you!
There have been cases of people who fell asleep and they had to dig 'em back out.
I think that if we had to buy our own pajamas, we'd choose pajamas without buttons.
But since they're a gift, we say:
"It's for somebody else. Bah! Screw 'em."
By that logic, we could give, as a gift...
Wicker Tampax! "Well, it's for somebody else..."
That's why we young people have our own pajamas: underwear and an old T-shirt.
It's one of the triumphs of our generation: we'll sleep with just about anything.
The problem is, can you use just any old shirt as a pajama shirt?
How do you choose a pajama shirt? Does it need any particular merit?
Yes.
It has to be ugly.
Like a local TV commercial...
"Corrochano Scaffolding" -- perfect!
You're falling asleep already.
But there's another way a T-shirt can become a pajama shirt...
One night, your girlfriend is staying in your house, takes your favorite T-shirt...
The Britney Spears one...
And she tells you with impunity:
"I'll sleep in this."
And she does.
That shirt will never be the same again.
Once a T-shirt has spent a night as a pajama shirt, it's lost its innocence...
It's like it's sad.
You look at it and say: "Britney, you don't look so good."
And she says: "Yeah, I've had a bad night..."
So you need to familiarize yourself with the "T-shirt life cycle".
How many times do you have to put on a T-shirt until it becomes a pajama shirt?
And how many nights does it need to spend as a pajama shirt until you start using it to clean lenses?
And the saddest of all:
How many lenses does it have to clean until it becomes a shoe rag?
I think that's the last step, putting the shirt on the same level as shoe polish.
To avoid all this, I think we should all sleep -- and we can -- in the Cadillac of pajamas: winter pajamas.
Winter pajamas are like a jogging suit... but not as elegant.
It's like a chamois jogging suit to clean your glasses with.
There are some that are so transparent, you can see through 'em.
You look at a guy wearing winter pajamas and you say:
"In every moment I know where you've got it all."
There are some so fine that it's not that you can see through the cloth, but that you can see through the man...
In hospitals they can dispense with X-rays.
"I think I have a kidney stone. Can you give me an X-ray?"
"No need. Put on some winter pajamas."
But of course winter pajamas have a weakness:
The band around the waist.
This loose band...
...which is loose from day one...
They should sell winter pajamas with shoulder straps.
'Cause it's so loose that it your pants will fall off even though you're lying down in bed.
However, the wrist bands are like shackles...
You go around with bluish hands...
"Honey, your skin seems darker."
And you say, "No, it's the bands of these winter pajamas."
And here it's necessary to make an observation.
Let's see...
It's not that winter pajamas are bad.
It's society that corrupts them.
The problem is that it always corrupts them in the same area:
The crotch.
You get this little hole...
This hole is like an actor's ego:
It can only get bigger.
It's a problem because you fall asleep fiddling around with the little hole,
and when you wake up, nothing is left but the wrist bands.
I, in my eagerness for research, have slept in a nightgown.
My mother was saying, "Luis, what are you doing with that nightgown?"
I was like, "Mother. Research."
And the nightgown is the most uncomfortable thing to sleep in there is.
You get in the bed and -- vloop -- it goes up to your armpits.
It becomes like a scarf.
But that's not the worst of it. The worst is that when you want to twist it around...
'Cause it's squeezing you...
It strangles you here, at the waist level...
It's called the "Twister effect".
And it's dangerous because if you keep trying, keep trying, and keep trying...
There are people it has split in two.
"Mitosis", they call it.
Investigating, I did the test, and the only way to twist a nightgown around is this:
Open your legs wide so the cloth tightens up -- thunk!
Then start hopping -- boing, boing, boing!
Then when you've got enough altitude, you flip yourself around like a pancake -- boooinnnggg, SPLAT!
But...
Be careful not to fall on top of a guy wearing pajamas, because the buttons will stab you and you will die.
There have been cases. Thank you.