My friend used to joke that the local criminals would come to court “dressed in their best sweat pants.”
I was reading a David Sedaris book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, on my flight back from Chicago and came across this passage:
There were plenty of things that should have concerned me–the blood-spatter evidence, the trajectory of the bullets–but all I could concentrate on was the defendant’s mother, who’d come to court wearing cutoff jeans and aGhostbustersT-shirt. It couldn’t have been easy for her, but still you had to wonder: whatwouldshe consider a dress-up occasion?