Red hot water bottle

I am in love. This is not infatuation. This is long-term lovin’ that is going to go the distance and stay hot night after night.

My friend Molly gave me a hot water bottle. She is one of those rare, modest, insightful folks who hears someone once mutter, “I could really use a hot water bottle” and then realizes that, in fact, that is exactly what that someone needs (in this case, me) AND even that someone doesn’t yet realize how much they need it.

I don’t know how my cold toes and I have lived for so long without this wondrous invention. Maybe They have tried, the hot-water bottle makers, but as far as I can tell, my hot water bottle looks exactly like a hot water bottle that my grandmother might have had. It’s VINTAGEY! It should be wearing 1940s shoes and swing-dancing with WWII soldiers on leave! I’m telling you, I love it, my fetishy red rubber, “Made in the USA” extravagance.

See? And you thought I just complained all the time. Mais non! I know a good thing when I’ve got my icy tootsies shoved up against it for seven hours’ straight. My peeps, the thing is so smooth and RED and sensual? I could practically make out with it. I probably would make out with it, if I were a phone sex operator. It’s sitting here beside me right now, looking at me with that elegant long neck and naughty diaphragm-esque head, whispering, Fill me up, baby. Fill me up nice and hot. It’s time, all right. I want your cold feet on me, and I want them now, and all night long.

I can SO appreciate the little things. See? I can. Can’t. Stop. Touching. It. Can’t. Stop. Petting. It. Good bottle. Pretty bottle. Chubby pretty munchie bottle!

What are your small but obsessive delights?