After a long night with L (she was up from 2 to 4 a.m. in major tooth pain) and an even longer morning of work, I escaped for an hour today to grab a quiet lunch in town.

The escapade started out swimmingly. No traffic between home and one of my favorite local Mexican restaurants. Grabbed a beer. Sat down at an outdoor table. Placed the order. Slugged back monster sip of aforementioned beer. Exhaled a calming sigh of relief.

That’s when it hit me: I was still wearing my pajamas (not Calvin Kleins, mind you; something far more, well…ghetto).

And I didn’t care one bit. It was the kind of morning—the kind of day, really—where we stay-at-home parents don’t give a crap about how we smell or what we wear. Readers, if you’ve ever flown solo with your kids, I know you know what I’m talking about. And you know you’ve been there, too.

Every now and again, parenthood requires so much selflessness that you forget what it means to be selfish at all. That’s not a complaint, it’s a confession. I’m not saying I like looking like a bum. I am, however, saying that sometimes, “bumminess” is not the end of the world.

The most classic example of this philosophy came after lunch in the local Blockbuster.

I was picking up a “True Blood” DVD for Powergirl, and when I made my way up to the check-out, the guy behind the register definitely noticed my attire.

“Dude,” he said, nodding toward my nether-regions. “I love the shorts.”

I chuckled and replied with a simple, “Thanks, man,” as I headed for the car. It was evident that Video Bargainville totally was jealous of my get-up. At least someone other than L appreciated it, too.