Ode to my Snuggie

I've been checking you out for a long time, dreaming about your warm arms holding me.

You first caught my eye when I saw a commercial for you on late night cable television. Then, I saw another. And another. Each time, I couldn't look away. Your infomercials rivaled even the most classic ones. The Chia Pet and "the clapper" got nothing on you, baby! A blanket with sleeves?! Brilliant. How did I ever answer a phone or cook a snack while staying warm before? Your chic infomercials explained the financial, emotional, psychological benefits of owning a Snuggie. I would have lower heating bills, become better at math, be able to cook a five course gormet meal without getting chilly, find a cure for cancer, and, of course, look damn sexy while doing it all.

I had my doubts. You're so popular that I wondered if you weren't a bit of a player. Everyone, from Ellen to Weezer, was wearing, posing, parodying, caressing, and devoting themselves to you. 3,000,000 people to be exact. Would I just be another adoring fan?

I guess I'll have to share my obsession because I'm okay with all things cliché. Hell, it's time for one right now...

If loving you is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

When I opened my last present from my husband and found you in all your Pepto Bismal pink glory, I knew we would be a match forever. We could scoff at all those pathetic folks still using blankets. Losers.

You've been nothing but warm and wonderful. Even Dan couldn't resist your charms (picture withheld for future blackmail.) You, me, and 30 Rock Thursdays are going to be so happy together.

Just don't tell my robe.