I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to slip my feet into a pair of sueded slippers with fucking memory foam in them. That shit is going to be so comfortable. I’m about to go on Amazon right now to find myself a pair of those cozy motherfuckers.

Then when my wife sees me, it’s gonna be like BAM! Check out my new cushioned foot pajamas, bitch! Because guess what they’ll have inside of them? Fucking memory foam. That’s right, there’ll be a new kind of footstep heard around the house. And that step will be the most comfiest, most memoriest, most foamiest step ever.

I might even get the kind with fur on it, all fuzzy like someone killed a Grizzly bear and took only the best, most snuggliest part to turn into a slipper. Then I’m gonna wear them round the clock, 24/7 like they’re stuck to me. Stuck to me like toasty marshmallows trying to make s’mores out of my feet. At night when we’re sleeping, my wife is going to be like, “Aren’t you hot wearing those in bed?” And I’m just going to sink my toes even deeper into the squishy abyss. Then without breaking eye contact, I’ll whisper back, “It’s memory foam, babe. You’re either about this life or you’re not.”

Sure, wearing socks might seem like a reasonable way to keep your feet warm while you wash the dishes. But you know what else is? Wearing fucking memory foam slippers– specifically the kind that are so absorbant that as you generate body heat from vigorously scrubbing the dishes, its fleece-lined interior captures then stores that heat to warm your little toesies like a bonfire. If that doesn’t sound like absolute heaven to you, then you can go screw yourself. I can’t force you to upgrade your life.

Next, I’m gonna slip my feet out of the slippers and replace them with my hands. That’s right baby, it’s handstand time. All around the house. Watching TV? Yup, I think I’ll kick my hands up onto the ottoman. Running on the treadmill? Watch out, my biceps are about to be ripped. Why do these superfluous things? Because it’s not styrofoam, it’s not latex foam, and it’s not cooling gel foam. It’s fucking memory foam, bro.

You know when you’re jumping on a trampoline and for that one glorious moment, it feels as if you’re suspended in the air, free from the oppressive shackles of gravity? My new memory foam slippers are going to feel exactly like that, except all the time. The only people who will have even a remote understanding of my euphoric lifestyle will be astronauts. And even then, they only took one small step.

Until my new slippers arrive, I’ll have to make do by duct taping my feet to my wife’s memory foam pillows. And if either one of my toddlers decides to be a smartass, they’ll promptly receive a ludicrously cushioned roundhouse kick to the face. It’ll put them right to sleep. Night night, bitches.

Because it’s fucking memory foam.


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