O, old Winnie the Pooh pajama bottoms, you were the best. Until the other morning when I woke up with my left butt cheek hanging rather unexpectedly in the breeze, you were my most favorite pair of pajama pants.
Your softness was unbeatable, like brushed silk, even though you were made of cotton. I guess ten years or so of constant washing will do that to fabric. It also will eventually produce said tear above.
You didn't bunch up at the crotch, a very important feature for pajama pants. You hung loosely and comfortably, rather like harem pants. Over the years, you seemed to expand with me, but in a good and comfortable way.
Even though you had little rips and stains from God knows where, I still loved you dearly, and all other pajama pants had to measure up to your standards. All of them failed, but now, you are gone.
I will have to make do with the ones that are cut a little too tight in the thigh, or ones that bunch up around my waist when I turn in bed.
I will probably endure many sleepless nights wishing I still had you, pulling the inferior pants out of unmentionable places and cursing softly. You will be missed, and the search for your replacement, however seemingly impossible, has begun.