One thing I know: When the front door is shut and locked, we are a wildly inappropriate family.
We have a habit of trying to pants each other at every available opportunity. Our version rarely involves any success. It really is the journey. In other words, if one is wearing sweats or some other elasticized waistband garb, better grab on and tug. This leads to shrieks, laughter, and planting oneself firmly on the ground.
I sometimes wonder if the neighbors can hear us laughing, chasing, and ending up in a heap. Then I think, well, if everyone were to stop being so serious and just try a bit of pantsing, maybe everyone really would get along.
When in doubt, pants. (The verb, not the noun.)