Tucked up in Mr I's 40yo school sleeping bag because the dog ('Is not dog, is princess') needs my side of the bed, wearing a Bjorn Borg headband because otherwise my budget face oil 'won't take'. In a pandemic. It's all immensely displeasing.
This sleeping bag is for 9-12s. From 40 years ago. I feel like I'm zipping myself into an industrial pork production unit. Tightly.
The footing is very ... constricting, but the little hood is most pleasing. No doubt tomorrow I will look like a resplendent, reconstructed Nefertiti, or an abandoned husk. Place your bets and spin that wheel (don't spin the wheel).
God help me when I need to hot pee at 6. If they find me dead face down in 3 days, half eaten by the dog, in a stale 40yo sleeping bag, it wasn't a crime.
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