I know this because I am not rich and also, not coincidentally, cannot imagine the day I would be able to wear pajamas around and get away with it (let's face it, there are dress codes for burger-flippers).
I'd like to think, even if I temporarily lost my sanity and tried to make the pajamas thing happen, that some long-forgotten kill-pact signed in blood at a dirty fraternity house / cockfighting pitch somewhere in the world would kick in and an overqualified, up-and-coming rent-a-ninja would swoop down from the towering eucalyptus trees and disembowel me, mid-stride, as I peacocked across the henyard, Starbucks-ward, wilfully flaunting my flaunting of convention.
Let's face it, I'd deserve it.
