When I get home from work I look like the Tasmanian Devil with a day job. I make sure to enter every room in my apartment at least three times, open the fridge a minimum of four times and have at least two separate conversations with the roommate involving sports - neither of which do I say anything intelligent because I am about as good at sports as I am at being unattractive.
For the first twenty minutes there is no sitting, there is no committing to one room for over four minutes and no decisions made about what I am having for dinner - no matter how many times I open the fridge. I am like a chicken with it's head cut off and hopped up on No Doz and SportsCenter.
Then I put on sweatpants.
Sweatpants are like a written agreement that you will not be doing anything productive for the rest of the night. The apartment could be burning down and a young mother with a child stuck in their burning room could run up and be like, "MY CHILD IS STILL IN THE ROOM!!! YOU HAVE TO HELP...oh you are already in sweatpants. I'll find someone else."
When I put sweatpants on I am no longer in charge. The sweatpants walk me to the couch, the sweatpants turn on crappy TV and the sweatpants drop Doritos crumbs all over my lap and then take a nap. When I wake up covered in cheese crumbs and regret, the sweatpants surf the internet for videos of monkeys sticking their finger in the butt and sniffing it.
I think my work should institute a sweatpants rule. I know you are thinking it would be unproductive - but I would NEVER want to stand up. The sweatpants would refuse movement, as they do so frequently, and I would be stuck at my desk with nothing to do but actual work.
In fact, I think I am going to write a letter to the CEO right now...riiiight after I watch a few videos.