God Damn Pajama Party

I am my own biggest pain in the ass.

Hey, let's throw a pajama party and insist everyone shows up in their PJs! It'll be great.

I owns lots of bedtime clothing, gowns (long and short, some with matching robes), flannel pants (night-time body armor), camisoles, flimsy, sheer -- you name it. As host of this party, I want something new and special for the occasion, but I can't find it. It needs to be sexy -- but it also needs to keep my goodies under wrap. The last thing I want is a pic of one of my nips to make it on someone's blog. That would have been OK a few years ago, but really, I'm somebody's mother now.

The No Tell Motel Pajama Party is Saturday, March 11 -- starting at 9 p.m. You're invited. It'll be held at a private residence 4 miles from the AWP conference hotel. Come by the No Tell Motel table (I'll be playing footsies with the very alluring editors from The Canary) at the book fair for directions -- or backchannel.

Yes, you're expected to wear pajamas. Yes, if you show up in street clothes, we'll tackle and strip you down to your skivies.