On a winter night there's something sinful and voluptuous about climbing into a pre-heated bed. Even if the blanket's brand name isn't as nudge-nudge wink-wink as the lubricious Linda's.
It's been several decades ago since Linda promised that you would sleep wonderfully warm with her. Landfills must be full by now with old and worn-out Lindas but I'm still being lightly toasted by mine.
It sure beats the long-handled frying pan thingos that they filled with hot coals which, when not setting the bed on fire, worked quite well. And more recently, of course, we had the rubber hottie. No danger of setting the bed ablaze with one of those. Rather the opposite when they leaked. But, like Goldilocks' porridge, the bottle was either too hot or too cold.
As for me, I'm in bed with Linda every night!
