Numbing Nostalgia

Every cold season that comes by brings back toasty memories of my dearly missed footy pajamas. Those were the good old days. Each night I would adorn a brightly colored and peculiarly decorated coat of armor that was impenetrable by the ruthless ravagings of the chilled night air. With my frigid foe vanquished I slept soundly, illuminated by my radiant glow-in-the-dark patches and kept safe and sound by my mighty stegosaurus, triceratops, and pterodactyl guardians. That was my life and I was the king. Nothing could touch me nor dared to. All were intimidated by the fiery war colors of my glorious unitard.



Unfortunately, those days are gone and now the joys of footies are reserved for my two younger siblings Benny and Minnie. How I would watch them in bitter envy as they contentedly snuggled up in their fuzzy, little PJ's with nonchalant grins plastered on their faces as they lazed about watching that day's episode of  "Spongebob." All the while I screamed inside for the comforting sanctuary housed within. They laughed at the cold that cowered from their presence, while I pathetically begged for mercy from it, longing for the return of days long past. Days in which I had taken that wooly night-time attire for granted. NAY! It was more than that. It was solid warmth manifested in utterly soft fabric through sorts of sorcery that I dare not try to understand. Made from silky threads harvested from exotic cotton plants of lands far off and crafted with utmost precision by the hands of some master seamstress. But reminiscing about it is all I have now, without risking household humiliation of course. Perhaps one day, I will be blessed once again with the joys of its sweet and reassuring embrace.