Slipping Into Something More Comfortable

“There’s  something  I want,” I told my husband.

He looked resigned and downtrodden, bracing himself for another unreasonable demand.

  “It’s something to wear, mostly at night. Probably only at home,” I whispered, raising my eyebrows.

    He perked up immediately, envisioning scanty bits of lace and silk.

  “Here!” I said, tossing the ad in the weekly circular at him.

 There was a large picture of an older woman wrapped completely in a bag of fuzzy bedding. Only her head and the tips of her fingers were visible.

 “These things must be fabulous,” I said. “Every single magazine I open advertises them.” I shoved the earmarked stack his way and he flipped through them, unimpressed.

 “They’re all sitting on the couch,” he said. “Every single one.”

 They were. Women of various ages and hairstyles and blanket bag colors were all curled up on the sofa.

 “I guess it’s hard to move around much in that thing. You probably couldn’t cook dinner or do laundry or vacuum,” I said. “Of course that might be the point…”

  “I don’t get it. Why would  anyone wear something that ugly?” my husband asked.

   I didn’t point out that I was wearing an old tattered sweat shirt and flannel pajama pants and crocs.

   “Well, it must be very warm! I think the primary target is ts for wives of husbands who won’t turn the heat up,” I said testily.

   “Why not just get under an afghan? Scoot a little closer to the fire?” he said.

  I flipped through the pictures of the toasty warm women. They are all reading or gazing at their loved ones contentedly or smiling at the camera. One was holding the remote control in the one visible body part in the ad.

  I tugged my afghan over my feet and tried to wrap it underneath them. I alternate between covering my feet and pulling the blanket up under my chin. I can’t do both.

   All the women on the couch have fleecy fabric pooling under their chins and hanging off the couch, plenty for both the neck and toes. In one advertisement there is an entire family on the couch, each wrapped in warm fuzzy bags. They look thrilled.

   I know a woman invented this. A man would have solved the problem of winter chill by adding black gloves to the playboy bunny outfit.

   “There are no men wearing these,” my husband said.

    “Well someone has to remain mobile in the household. Be able to jump up in case of emergencies. Let the dog out. Unload the dishwasher. Maybe turn the heat up.”

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