Step 1) uncork a bottle of chardonnay on kitchen counter.

Step 2) walk directly upstairs, take off pants or skirt (whatever — it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re taking it off).

Step 3) go back downstairs, pour glass of chardonnay, and proceed to pay bills, return phone calls, etc.

Lisa and I joked about it, even created an unofficial house ban on chardonnay. And we swore to ourselves that we would keep our pants on, at least until a reasonable hour. The chardonnay we did without, much as we might have craved it, for an entire year. As for the pants-dropping dictum, well, that lasted about a week.

So what, exactly, is behind this compulsion to drop my pants? It’s not that I wear particularly uncomfortable clothes. Aside from some workout gear, I don’t own any spandex. I regularly purge my closet of anything that’s too small, too tight, too anxiety-producing. Sure, there are those days when my " good " pants feel not-so-good. But being bound by a waistline isn’t really the issue here.

Really, pants-shedding is more of a psychological thing. Rachel doesn’t have to dress up for work, but she’s just as eager to lose her pants at the end of the day. Lisa and I met at a bar the other night. She was wearing jeans and a yellow polo shirt. " It’s so true, " she said, laughing. " I was wearing this at work today. I came home, took these off, put on some boxers, and put them back on again when I came to meet you. "

That’s because the pants you wear coming in the door — whether they’re fancy or casual — are work. They’re outside. They’re not curl-up-on-the-couch. They’re definitely not return phone calls, make dinner, and read.

For us pants-losers, there’s a tried and true Pants Progression. Usually, right after dropping my pants, I go for an intermediary pair, one to fill the slot between work and going out. Those are usually pajama bottoms — place-holders between work pants and play pants. Let’s call them leisure pants. I have a few pairs of those — they’re exceptionally comfortable, elastic-waist, breathe-easy closet items.

If I end up going out, there’s a switch to the play pants. But here’s the rub: though I’m compulsive about taking off my pants when I come home from work, once I’ve made the transition to leisure pants, it becomes that much more difficult to take the leap to play; the process that produced such a gratifying ahh now prompts a begrudging oy. In fact, leisure pants are almost a trap. I’ve been known to use them as an excuse: " Oh, Axis? Um, well, I’d love to, but, see, I’m already in my pajamas. " It’s sort of the limp, clothing-excuse equivalent to the " I’m washing my hair " plea — especially when you say it at 6 p.m.

When it comes right down to it, all pants have a place and a time. Just as I feel compelled to drop my pants upon arriving home, I would feel vaguely dirty going out in my leisure pants, or wearing nighttime play pants around the house. After getting home the other day, I did just that: I wandered into the kitchen in my work pants. I remember hearing " Fancy! " as I scurried off to change.

Last week, my roommate Bess was in her leisure pants — a/k/a her pajama bottoms — making some dinner. " I need to run out to the store to pick up some lemons, " she announced. " I’m just gonna go like this. That’s okay, right? " I nodded — failing, I think, to conceal my horror. Those are leisure pants, I balked. The baggers will freak.

I violated the code myself once last summer, when I ducked across the street to Store 24 in pajamas and a sweatshirt. Before leaving the house, it felt like a " whatever " thing to do. But it came off more as " whoops. "

But there are some who seem to delight in going against the pants code, like college students in the middle of finals — rushing in to exams in perfectly disheveled ponytails and pajama bottoms. I just couldn’t tear myself away from the books to throw on real pants, the look says. I am going crazy with studying. It always seemed so thinly veiled, as if dressing down were proof of academic devotion. In my experience, there’s always a spare moment to make the Pants Transition.

I was talking with some guys about this, and they eagerly shared their own stories about pants-dropping: sitting in front of the fan, the computer, the TV, chilling. But there’s a difference between their exuberant pants-dropping and mine: while theirs seems a practical means of cooling off thermodynamically, mine is more about cooling out psychologically. It provides a buffer between day and night, home and away.

After growing up in a pants-loser’s home, I tried to make it my personal goal to keep my pants on. But like nervous habits, like allergies, like my skin color — the pants-loser thing is part of being me.

You just can’t mess with jeanetics.