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| Glad I've got someone of the opposite sex with me, or I'd really feel like a complete moron. |
Several weeks ago I encountered a product called the "Forever Lazy Soft Fleece Lounge Wear" suit on the shelves of a local store, snapped this quick (and regrettably blurry) cellphone picture of it for evidence of yet another sign of our collapsing society, and went about my day.
It was only later, when I came across it again in my vast database of images, that I began to ponder what this item had to offer.
According to the packaging, only three activities are recommended by the manufacturer (and one has to wonder if these are suggestions or stipulations) while wearing the Forever Lazy Lounging Around Doing Nothing With Your Life Suit:
• Read a book.
• Watch TV.
• Do nothing at all.
Sounds good on the surface, but when you realize that "Watching TV," and "Doing Nothing At All," are virtually the same thing, you're suddenly down to two activities: "Reading A Book Book," and "Doing Nothing At All."
Going one step further, it you're the type of person whose main activities in life have been reduced to reading or doing nothing, odds are you're going to default to "Doing Nothing." Just a guess.
So there you have it. All you can really do in your colorful costume of sloth is . . . nothing. Nothing at all. If you were motivated, maybe you could sort of shuffle around the house looking for the TV remote or something. But after awhile even that would likely prove to be too much effort and soon you'd be back in the comfy chair, fantasizing about the greatness you could achieve if only you had more time.
Being a big fan of comfort myself, I have to admit that for a moment I envisioned myself lying around the house doing nothing in a cocoon of warmth. But then I quickly came to my senses when I realized I'd never really be able to fully relax, because of the following nagging worry:
What if someone comes to the door?
There I'd be, resplendent in the vestibule: a six-foot-tall, 200-pound, 50-year-old man, in a saggy blue fleece suit with sleep drool on my chin. Given the quirky twists of fate the universe drop ships to me at the worst possible times, the visitor on my threshold would either be an incredibly beautiful woman trying to find her twin sister's house, or a gigantic biker with facial tattoos looking for someone named "Spider."
Awkward.
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| Instructions for the Forever Lazy Transformative Cocoon. The horror. |
My decision not to succumb to the siren call of costumed relaxation was solidified when, after a little research on the web, I found a copy of the instructions included with the Forever Lazy Lounge Wear, and its diabolical end goal was revealed.
Personally, faced with the choice of remaining uncomfortable in my human skin, or risk being softly transmogrified into some sort of freakish plush gnome . . . well, I'll stick with throwing a ratty old blanket over myself when the call to nap can no longer be denied.
