The llamajama problem

I was woken early one morning by a hammering on my back door. I quickly dressed and rushed downstairs to find Alun, wearing pyjamas with llamas on them.

 

"You've llamajamas," I said.

 

"Yes Jed, they were a Christmas gift," (Happy Island celebrate Christmas five months late for tax purposes). "Do you like them?"

 

"They're lovely. I particularly like the llamas in Santa hats. Are you planning to wear them all day?"

 

"No Jed, I just thought someone should see me wearing them, because we're both of us getting on a bit now. What if this is the last pair of pyjamas I ever have, the ones I die in, my ultimate pyjamas."

 

Alun can be like this when he get's new things, it makes him melancholy. He was reduced to tears a few years ago when he had to buy new oven gloves.

 

"Well we're both mortals," I said, "and there are worse pyjamas to die in. Some pyjamas don't even have llamas on them, imagine that."

 

"My point is, Jed, that other than showing them to you now, nobody may ever see them, not 'til I'm dead. I don't have a special someone to show my llamajamas to."

 

"I see. Does this mean you're going to try internet dating?"  I've read lots of stories where the characters do this, often with hilarious results.

 

"Of course not, Jed. I'm going to take advantage of my lonely, vulnerable state to write a 1,000 page existential novel. I came round to borrow your laptop.