During a quick stop at Walgreens this weekend, I waited patiently in the car for my husband to run in and buy some cold medicines.
When he returned, he came back with more than just nasal spray and cough drops.
Into my lap landed this:
My reaction: WTF is this?! Oh hells naw, you did NOT just buy me a SNUGGIE! Get that thing away from me and take it back RIGHT NOW! That’s the…
Hubby: It’s not for you. It’s for my mom. Her birthday is next week.
Me: Oh, okay then. It’s perfect.
I don’t know why, but I am morally against the snuggie. My husband (aka, the person who knows me best) thinks that this is the one item I should be all over. I’m constantly cold and love curling up on the couch with my giant blue fleece blanket. I’ll wrap it around myself and wear it like a toga as I walk to and from the kitchen for refills of hot chocolate. In theory, I am the perfect snuggie candidate.
I do not like the snuggie. In fact, just mere mention of the word “snuggie” makes me rather…angry. Like punch a koala angry (thank you, CareerBuilder). Some might even say…stabby. Yes, the snuggie makes me stabby. It’s a strange phenomena really. Someone should conduct a study on my psyche. Though I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. How does a monk’s fleece cloak evoke so much emotion? I don’t know. I just know there aren’t enough koalas around when I need them.