Your days are numbered.
Today, while watching daytime TV, I realized that our relationship has grown too comfortable. I know, I know. HOW could that happen? You’re all about being cozy and comforting. You’re totally a Cancer with Cancer rising. You love to be the big and the little spoon when we cuddle. You let me spill on you and you don’t judge my bizarre, cracked-out TV choices. When I flip, in the blink of an eye, from watching “The Wire” to, say, “Toddlers in Tiaras,” you don’t obnoxiously tell me how much you can’t snuggle with a girl who watches late night TLC. I mean, we mesh well. I’ll give you that.
But what I realized our relationship lacks is functionality. Let’s call a spade a spade here, Snugs: you are a backwards robe. A Dungeons and Dragons peasant shift would give my ass more coverage. And, unless I become a homeless crack addict, I can’t really bring you out in public.
Look, Forever Lazy just has more perks. It fits my lifestyle more. Sometimes I like to casually drink wine or, well, anything alcoholic really, outside with friends on a Winter’s Eve or Morn. You KNOW how much I like to stay warm while I drink al fresco. Forever Lazy can just come with me to a tailgate, and unlike you, it won’t get caught in the bbq and potentially catch on fire, AND I can easily unzip it to use the Port-a-Potty.
And that’s another thing…Forever Lazy has a BACK DOOR FLAP for all sorts of bodily functions and pleasures. Sure, there’s a manual for how to utilize you during sex, but Forever Lazy is just fucking lazy. You just unzip and go for it. Lazily. A laziness that I could apply when, if the situation called for it, I could potentially wear Forever Lazy to a Fluffy orgie if and I when I was ever invited to one.
Please forgive me, snugs. It’s just that Forever Lazy is just so goddamn American.