Showing posts with label slanket. Show all posts
Showing posts with label slanket. Show all posts

Friday, February 1, 2013

I'm not one of the 1 in 8 British adults

According to the Daily Mail (which I don't read, I saw the quote elsewhere), 1 in 8 British adults own a onesie.

Nooooooo.....!

I remember well the day I was shopping, deep in the heart of America's Midwest, in Target, with my sister-in-law who was visiting from London. We saw an adult fleecy onesie for sale, and we both had to suppress a nauseous reaction. If we weren't physically gagging, we were very nearly doing so. I seem to remember being vaguely comforted by the idea that this was America, and we couldn't imagine these abominations would ever catch on in Britain. Alas. How wrong we were.

Why, oh why, would any self-respecting adult buy a onesie? Is that it? Have those who bought onesies done so as a statement of lost self-respect? Is it a way of getting referred for therapy on the NHS? Do you go to your GP, and say "Not only do I struggle with feelings of depression, but I've also bought a onesie"? Or were those millions of onesies all bought by people who didn't know what else to get friends and relations for Christmas?

A onesie. It's a step down from a slanket, and that's saying something.

Do you wear a onesie like pyjamas? In which case, aren't the soles of your feet all dirty when you go to bed? Or do you wear it like a dressing gown - over your pyjamas? In which case, isn't it just horribly bulky, like Michelin Man? Does it make you feel like you're in a fleecy version of Star Trek? Don't you get very cold when you go to the loo? Do you find yourself hopping about, crossing your legs, sucking in your breath, while you fumble with that long, long zip? Or poppers? Please don't tell me you have poppers.

Please, if you're a 1 in 8, enlighten me. 'Fess up. Are YOU one of them?




Friday, September 2, 2011

Things that just aren't right somehow

I was never a big fan of the slanket. In fact, I'd go further than that. I really hated the idea of the slanket. I hated it so much, that I'm not even going to find a picture to put here. You'll just have to google it yourselves.

Oh, go on then.


I just don't get it. Either you want a blanket to snuggle under on your sofa, in which case, get a blanket. Or you want something with sleeves, in which case, get a sweater (or jumper if you're English). Listen carefully: either... or... Shall I run that by you again? Either... or... Got that? Who on earth wants to wander round the house, looking like a Hallowe'en alien commander gone wrong, tripping over an oversized garment whose only redeeming feature is... hang on... hm... can't think of one. A slanket has no redeeming feature. Except that they're optional. You don't have to have one. And guess what? I don't. (I do have an alien commander Hallowe'en costume though. Well, my son does.)

I don't know which is worse, by the way. 'Slanket' or 'Snuggie', which was the name used to market these apologies for household items on this side of the Atlantic. The name 'slanket' sounds like the kind of false expletive you use when you're in the company of children. "Oh slanket!" you might say, as you pour Cheerios all over the floor because someone has ripped the bag open sideways, and half the contents has ended up loose in the box, but you hadn't noticed before you aimed for the cereal bowl with your usual morning abandon. But 'snuggie' is somehow worse. It's the thought of opening a present on Christmas morning in front of your relatives, and having to say "oh, a snuggie! Just what I was hoping for!" In that situation, you need a word that doesn't sound as embarrassing as you feel embarrassed. 'Snuggie' is the kind of word smurfs might use. In fact, I bet you can buy a blue 'Smurftastic Snuggie' on Amazon. I'm not going to look. It would be too depressing if I'm right.

Let's leave the slanket/snuggie to one side and move on to an article that yesterday made me shiver with horror as I spotted it in my local supermarket. Pajama jeans. And yes, peoples, we're talking pajama, not pyjama. But honestly? Really? Truly? Pajama jeans? Why? Just... why? Of all the sartorial innovations there could be in the world, why, why would someone invent pajama jeans?


Let's try that nifty "either... or..." tool that we learnt about during our analysis of the slanket. Here goes. Either pajamas... or jeans... Either pajamas... or jeans... See? It works here too. If you want to wear pajamas, wear pajamas. If you want to wear jeans, wear jeans. Are we getting the hang of this yet, peoples?

I can't imagine what pajama jeans are for. Are they nightwear or daywear? Or (*shudder*) are you meant to wear them in the day and simply not bother to change when it's bedtime? And then get up the next morning and not have to put clothes on? Are they for people who live life in the fast lane and have no time to get dressed and undressed? In which case, do you wear panties underneath them or not? I am not coping well with this concept.

Deep breath, Iota, deep breath. This is not armageddon. Just pajama jeans in your local supermarket.

I have one final reflection, Bloggy Peeps. Hybrids are cars, not clothing.