Farewell, my PJs

A sad fare thee well to my hideous pink and white striped pajamas, which bravely died of old age recently.  They've been with me since junior high, and I was not as respectful of their aged state as I should have been during a recent cold snap.  The pants are still going strong, but the shirt, which was a snazzy button-up number, has met its maker for sure.  This is the problem with my insomnia: when there is no sleeping, there is a lot of tossing and turning, which can result in anything from pulled/strained muscles to torn pajamas.  I suspect I am much less destructive in my sleep, but, you know, it's been a while since I've been able to test that theory . . .