When I started thinking about taking a boring photograph I realized I generally could do this—and have been doing it—without thinking about it, without actually making any special effort, which turned out to be a problem. I became so self-conscious in my efforts to create a boring photo that I couldn’t remember my natural technique, which almost always yields a picture of astounding nullity and tediousness. So I began to analyze what makes a really boring photo and—putting aside what I might do with food, flowers or feet—I quickly realized a self-portrait would probably be the perfect subject; however, being neurotically shy, I knew I could not take a picture of myself; besides, given the density of ghouls on the Internet, somebody would probably find a photo of me interesting, at least in a ghoulish sort of way. So it occurred to me that the next best way to capture the vacuous acedia of my horrible existence was to find an object associated with me, not just any object, but one that retained in its very integument, in its innermost harmony with my odious being, the hopelessness and despair that are my natural raiment; in other words, the object I chose would have to capture the essential state of my absurd existence, with all its fundamental pointlessness and lack of integrity but without making such a big deal of those qualities that it became interesting. It was clearly a tall order. But such is the intimacy I share with myself that the perfect object presented itself immediately: my pajamas. First, anyone’s pajamas are boring in a way that defies precise understanding (we’re leaving aside sex-crazed interest here). But the pajamas of an insomniac--a lifelong member of the Society of Sleepless Sojourners--would be especially boring because insomnia itself is as ultimately uninteresting as the retelling of a normal sleeper’s dream. (A photograph of the one or two dreams I’ve had in my life would surely displace this picture of my pj’s.) So here is a picture of a pair of my pajamas. I have another pair just like these, but they have a big tear in the arm and I thought I should at least put forward my best pajama if I were going to perpetrate this amazingly stupid act of self-revelation. (Perhaps I should say how the other pair received its wound: one night, many years ago, I dozed off for about five minutes and apparently my brain became so startled at finding itself asleep that it forced me from the bed and caused me to run through the house—still fully unconscious—until I caught the sleeve of my pajama top on a doorknob, which I pulled on and yanked at until my wife awoke and cut me free—my wife sleeps very soundly, which is why she keeps the big shears under her pillow. Thus, the gash in the pajama top, and my persistent fear of doorknobs.)

Very warm and comfortable, wish they made them in my size! Find these and other toddler sleepwear @ IndulgeNspoil.com