As those who know me well can attest, I am very attached to my dogs. Particularly. my little dachshund. But recently, my level of attachment tested the conventions of good taste, dignity, and decorum. A recognized trait specific to the breed, my dachshund loves to burrow. If a groundhog's hole is unavailable, Chloe happily makes do with a pile of blankets.
At bedtime, Chlo likes to be wedged comfortably between Brad and me, tucked into a warm tummy or curled into a pair of knees. We're a cozy little family. But a few nights ago, things got a little too cozy. I awoke in the darkness with a nagging feeling. I shifted but couldn't escape the sensation of being bogged down in my bed. "Brad," I murmured, poking my husband in the back, "help me." "Wha-," he groaned groggily, "what's the matter?" Despite the late hour and privacy of my bedroom, I was still embarrassed. "Chlo's collar is stuck on me." Propping himself up on one elbow, Brad sought clarification. "What?" "Her collar is attached to...my elastic waistband." I may have lost my dignity but Brad's sense of humor was firmly in place. "Are you saying," he said, chuckling as he pawed around under the covers, seeking to free our still sleeping dog, "that Chlo is caught on your underwear?" "Yes," I answered in my most solemn tone. Effortlessly, Brad unhinged this unusual umbilical cord connecting Chloe to me. Ignoring my husband's incessant giggling, I buried my head in my pillow and quickly went back to sleep.
Maybe it was just a dream, I thought to myself upon waking the next morning. Stretching, I stood up, frowning as something tickled the back of my legs. I hadn't taken more than two steps before I discovered the source of my discomfort. Brad, seeking the path of least resistance last night, had simply unlatched the collar, leaving me with a tiny tail and a rapidly reducing sense of self-esteem.
And thus concludes the cautionary tale of why you shouldn't wear underwear to bed.
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