I have been obsessed with snuggling all my life. As a child, I loved to curl up alongside my parents as they read in bed. In fact, I still do. I will gladly snuggle with any and all, and pretty much anyone who knows me has been forced to snuggle with me at one time or another.
Every year, on the big family ski trip to Yosemite, Kate and I spend hours snuggling in bed all day, watching trashy movies, ordering room service, and reading girly magazines. In college, my friends Jesse and Kelly would snuggle with me under blankets on snowy days, and we'd rewatch The Firm over and over again. And anyone who sleeps over at 916A will most likely be woken up with me jumping in their bed screaming, "Snuggle with me!"
I know, I know. Poor Bonnie.
The other night I felt the need to snuggle, so I called my parents house and tried to talk a family member into driving to the city just to snuggle with me. My brother, the only person who outright refuses to snuggle with me or anyone under any cirmumstances, pointed out that perhaps it's time to return to therapy, and then called me a snuggle whore.
"Well, Alex, if that's your attitide, I'm going out into the street to find a hobo."
We developed a scheme in which I'd offer hobos a shower, a cheese sandwich, and a clean bed for an hour, and all they had to do was snuggle with me. I mean really, I have fancy linens, I smell good, and who doesn't want a cheese sandwhich?
4 comments:
Hello? Anytime. Anywhere. I don't even need the cheese sandwhich...although, what kinda cheese are we talkin'?
Well, I don't know who you are, but I've got a nice Brie right now.
Hilarious. That's so sweet, you (snuggle) whore. I miss sunggling with you and watching Lifetime!
-pip
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