I have a particularly attractive... we'll call it dress... that I save for the hotter days of summer. I come home from work and, if the temperature is what I would call "#$%$#" I reach into the closet for this piece of sartorial wonder. Yes, it is black and made of some sort of material that I strongly suspect features heavily in "Bingo Hall Beauties - the Summer Collection!" It also completely lacks a shape of any kind (unless you want to count unidentifiable tube thing as a shape) BUT I know it's gorgeous because - it's cool. I can, given a leetle swamp-cooling and some shade, wear this thing and manage not to melt into a sad little puddle by the end of the afternoon.
The Children are not so impressed. In fact, the other day while we were sitting around in the almost cool of the late evening one of them quite rudely called it a mu-mu. This, I replied snidely, is not a mu-mu. It is elegant and black and mu-mu's have ginormous flowers. Also they are worn by ginormous women.
Yes, said another Child darkly, and they are see through. It sat in silent and grim contemplation of the memory that produced this remark. None of us wanted to know any more so we left it to it. The originator of the rude comment expanded on its opinion of The Dress and giggled. It stood there, tossing a soccer ball up and down and smiled superiorly at me. That's when I realized what it was wearing: it's favorite striped dress (which had fit it. Five years ago) and a pair of plaid flannel pajama bottoms. I spluttered a bit and pointed meaningfully at it. It had the grace to blush a bit, but retorted "at least it's not a mu-mu!"
"No!" Shouted Child 3 with glee, "it's a Pajoomoo!"