They're not just for yoga anymore

I tend to be a fairly concrete thinker. Not terribly abstract, it's hard for me to get my head around things in the imaginary realm. Stuff like.....Klein bottles are difficult for me to just roll with. (theoretical physics? WTF) GeekBoy was a physics major in college - he's tried to explain a bunch of these things to me and even with his dumbing it WAY down and his infinite patience, I still can't get right with it in my head.

This trait flows into much of my personal life. It's difficult for me to see new and varied uses for my things. Especially clothing. I have clothes for work and clothes for not-work and clothes for going out and clothes for working out. They rarely, if ever, make appearances in each other's worlds, except for my jeans - I wear them to work every day and also for not-work and for going out. They transcend the boundaries I've established. Magic.

When traveling by air, I try to dress as comfortably as possible, while maintaining some semblance of a halfway decent appearance. I'm always checking out other women's shoes and commenting to GeekBoy - 'Do you think she can run from the burning fuselage in THOSE? I hope to hell she's not in front of me. I'll go all George Costanza on her ass, and then stab her with that high heel sandal.' I marvel at the get-ups that some of our society will take to the skies in - it's not your living room couch or a nightclub, people, please don't treat it as such.

You see, when I first started flying; at all of 8 weeks old, air travel wasn't what it is today. It was a treat, not a taxi ride. When we flew, my mom would dress me up and once we got to the airport I had to behave just like I was a guest in someone's house. While I am thrilled that flying has become so accessible to so many folks, myself included, I do wish that it was still regarded as something special, and that we'd act in accordance.

How did I get sidelined into the whole 'stop dressing like skanks/lazy slobs at the airport' tirade?

Anyway.

Normally, I wear jeans and a nice shirt, usually black (with a wrap of some sort), and sturdy shoes to fly. Easy peasy. This last trip, though, I got an idea. I love my yoga pants, and have a pair that are a touch too large for me to wear to practice (but not so big as to be ridiculous) that I've relegated to the not-work section of my wardrobe; I bum around the house in them. They are so comfortable and most importantly, black. Easy to wash and not too slovenly looking score points for them too. Could I?

Yes. I could. And I did. And I loved it. Who knew? And why didn't they ever tell me? Can I get on that mailing list?

This could be the start of me thinking outside the box.

Bring on the Mobius Strips and that Schrodinger's Cat thing. I can handle it.