I had an editor once who wore sweat pants to the newsroom. I did not approve. While I’ve never been a GQ type of guy, preferring cheap khakis and work shirts to slacks and dress shirts, I always tried to dress well enough to go to court. When my editor would come in clutching a bag of McDonalds and a lip-balancing a cigarette, decked out in blue or black sweat pants, I couldn’t help but scoff (and cringe at the knowledge that a soul-crushing, spirit-trashing staff meeting was soon to steal an hour of my day.) Sure, we are print people, but that’s no reason to dress like like one had awakened under a freeway overpass. I’m not too big to admit that I was wrong. I wrote an article this morning dressed in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. It was heaven. I felt like I had found Jesus after a life in mortgage banking. I have seen the light and been reborn. Hallelujah. Can I get an amen? I am trying to freelance full time and I think I have just found the first perk among the many terrifying unknowns: no pants. Pants are overrated and a large portion of my operating budget. They have to go. Lord, I don’t ask you for much, and I’m calling in a favor. Bless me with enough freelance work to continue to revel in the unbearable lightness of chortes. Amen.