Too Comfortable for Comfort | Sober and Unashamed

Matt Salis
8 min readMar 1

When my shorts outlive their socially acceptable outside-of-the-house lifespan, I still wear them at home. I am no fashionista, so to be socially unacceptable, said shorts need a hole in the crotch or an unwashable oil or paint stain. I’ve worn pants with a ripped back pocket such that I had to pair them with my nicest boxer shorts before leaving the house, so my standard for at-home-only attire is pretty low. I pair my should-really-be-discarded shorts with an equally unthinkably torn and stained sweatshirt in the winter. And I wear that combo, day after day, once my time outside of the house is over. I’m like Mr. Rogers when I get home, except instead of changing into a nice cardigan, I slide into the same sweatshirt I’ve been wearing since the furnace first kicked on in October. Gross. That’s the point.

To top off my inside outfit, I wear socks with soccer slides (think open-toed flip-flops) to keep my tootsies warm in the winter. I often have an ice bag on one or both of my knees, which is one of the reasons for shorts instead of jeans. The other reason is that jeans are ridiculously uncomfortable, and the cultural embrace they enjoy, decade after decade, generation after generation, makes about as much sense to me as drinking a toxic poison and calling that relaxation. We are a curious species, and our infatuation with bluejeans is just one indicator of how easily brainwashable we are. No jeans at home for me. My at-home attire is selected for ultimate comfort.

Which begs the question: Why was I so uncomfortable for so long in my own home?

When I first met my wife, Sheri, there were specific characteristics that attracted me to her. I thought she was adorable with her dirty-blond hair and her soft, smooth skin. She wore minimal makeup, and dressed like she was up for anything. She was funny and kind, smart with a quick wit, and she was strong and curvy and had a look that convinced me she was always paying attention. By far my favorite trait that my wife exuded was an aggressive confidence. She was anything but arrogant. She didn’t think she was always right, but she didn’t take shit from anyone. She defended her position, right or wrong, with defiance and attitude. I wanted to be close to that fierce, resilient independence.

Matt Salis

I live in Denver, Colorado, with my wife and four kids. I write and speak about addiction and recovery. Please follow my blog at