When I opened the birthday gift from my mother-in-law, I gave a snobby little chuckle. Wow. Didn't see that coming. A Snuggie. As seen on TV. My mother-in-law gave me a blanket with sleeves. Just the thing I'd need to wear as I dragged through the sycamore leaves and to the mailbox to see if my Cash 4 Gold money had arrived yet.
"Oh. It's a Snuggie. I've seen them on TV. Thanks." MIL had a playful look in her eyes, a knowing look now that I think about it.
Didn't she know that I'd lampooned the Snuggie? It was nuts, this impossible wad of fabric that claimed to be cool enough to wear to bars and ballgames with your (lame) friends.
"Try it on," she said.
"OK," I said. This Snuggie was emblazoned with the UNC Tarheels logo and was easily big enough to accommodate the entire team. What was she thinking?
I used scissors to free it from its wrapping and Snuggie immediately expanded like a life raft, filling MIL's den and threatening to knock Duh Hubby's portrait off the wall along with the collection of candles flickering just below.
"Wow!" I said. If this thing didn't work as a cozy cover-up, it would make a fabulous drop cloth for, uh, Switzerland.
Because of its enormity, it took a few seconds to locate Snuggie's actual sleeves. I haven't been this kerflummoxed by an article of clothing since I bought my first thong. Also my last, since you ask.
While the whole family watched, I put Snuggie on as best I could and figured I'd just model it quickly and give everyone a good laugh. Except that's not how it went.
Snuggie had me in its warm embrace. It was like those "rebirth" blankets you hear about people using to recreate the womb experience except without all the gooey placenta crud.
No! It was nothing like that. Snuggie wasn't some crackpot psychology experiment; it was the real deal. I never wanted to take it off. I would wear my Snuggie everywhere I went, conducting my daily errands bank, grocery store, post office, driving by the gym all while wrapped, nay, swaddled in this marvelous monklike monstrosity.
I take back every hateful thing I ever said, thought or wrote about Snuggie. Because there's nothing worse than criticizing something you haven't even tried (I'm remembering YOU, deep-fried Oreos).
Snuggie has changed my life, forcing me to feel adrift and helpless for 40 minutes every week as I wait for it to finally, blissfully emerge from the dryer. Lucky dryer.
So, look elsewhere, hons, if you want to deride the Snuggie or mock its cheesy advertising campaign. Snuggie is a gift from God. OK, actually Walgreens, but still.