Hey, remember when I wrote this post? Yeah, I didn't think so. Go ahead and look at it for background. I'll wait.

Back now? Good. Now that we're all up to speed, there's an epilogue to the story.

Okay, so I'm sitting home the other day and the UPS man pulls up to the house. I went to the door and he handed me a box that was addressed to The KingofHearts. We have this thing in our house: we don't open each other's mail. Unless, for example it's like a bill from the Water Company or something where we know what's inside and it's obvious it's for the both of us, if it's not addressed to me, I leave it for The KoH to open. This is kind of an unspoken rule between us and I don't really know how it started. It's not like one of us ever said, "Hey, I don't want you to open my mail." We just have never done it. Maybe it's the years of indoctrination from the Post Office that mail is official and sacred. Maybe it's our way of protecting the other person if he or she wants to have a clandestine affair or order porn or something else the other person doesn't know about. The KoH also refuses to open my purse. Oh he'll hold my purse if I ask, but if I need something out of it and ask him to get it for me, he hands it back to me. Even if he's sitting right next to my purse and I'm in the other room and he asks to borrow a twenty because he's out of cash and I say, "There's one in my purse, go ahead and get it," or something equally benign, he will walk all the way across the house and hand the purse to me so I can get the money out and hand it back to him. And the money is usually in the outside pocket of the purse. He claims it's a privacy issue. But I don't really get that because I go through his wallet get stuff for him all the time. Personally I think he's just afraid he'll reach in and accidentally touch a tampon or something, but the fact remains that if I wanted to rob a bank and hide it from my husband, the only logical place for me to hide the dough is in my purse. He'd never be the wiser.

But I digress.

So I didn't even think about opening the box. And I really wasn't curious about what was inside at all. But as I put the box down, I happened to notice that the return address said, "
Snuggie." It's kind of hard to miss a one-word return address like that. He was at work, so I texted him. This was our textversation:
Me: Are you planning on staring your own cult?

KoH: I take it your Christmas gifts arrived.

Me: Just a box addressed to you from "Snuggie."

KoH: Open it. Now you can stay warm, read a book, etc.

Me: I'm hoping that when I open the box there aren't four identical robes because I might have to take the girls underground and go into hiding.

*No response from him. Several minutes go by*


KoH: Merry Xmas.

Me: I have to leave you now.

KoH: Cya.
Yes, we are the proud owners of not one, not two, not three, but FOUR Snuggies. I'd say that it was maybe a little too far to go for a joke, but neither one of us has any restraint so I'm going to have to give him a pass on this one.

You can join our cult anytime. We're still working on wiping the smiles off the small ones' faces, but every new religion has it's growing phases.

"Snuuugggiie. Snuuugggiie. Snuuugggiie. Snuuugggiie."