OK, you're at Safeway at 11:30 pm buying a DiGiorno, a Sara Lee cheesecake with cherry topping, and a J. Roget sparkling wine. It hasn't been your day. I feel you.

You still have to wear pants.

I'm here, too. I'm buying a frozen macaroni and cheese and a slice of German Chocolate Cake. But I'm wearing pants. You know, with a button. And a zipper.

I'm also wearing shoes. With laces. You could do slip-ons or boots. You could do ballet flats or flip-flops. Really, anything with a rubber sole that was designed to be worn off the psychiatric ward will do.

You want to go home and eat your feelings, that's fine with me. I've got the same date in about 15 minutes myself. Go on home and slip on your Angry Birds pajama pants that are about 8 inches too long. Scuff around in your once-pink-but-now-kind-of-necrotic-flesh-colored slippers. You're at home. That's your right.

Right now, you're in public. You're at a store where other people are at work. The lady standing for 8 hours and saying "have a good one," when it's obvious you have not and will not? She's wearing pants. The guy bagging your nutrition-free dinner for $7 an hour? Pants. I had to put on pants to come here and stand in line behind you and compose this post in my mind. You think any of us wanted to? No. No, we did not. But we did, because that's what you do in a civilized society.

It's your responsibility to contribute to the self-respect of your community by PUTTING ON PANTS. When we stand next to you, shop at the same place you shop, we get shuffled into the same deck with you. Your fraying pajama bottoms and shitty slippers make all of us feel more shabby.

Let's make it simple. You're leaving the house, you put on pants.