Anna had always wanted a break. A day of leisure. A true vacation.
But when she put on the Magical Sweatpants, she got far more than she bargained for.
The pants weighed her down, welded themselves to the couch. The first Netflix marathons were merely a reprieve.
Now, they were torture.
But when she put on the Magical Sweatpants, she got far more than she bargained for.
The pants weighed her down, welded themselves to the couch. The first Netflix marathons were merely a reprieve.
Now, they were torture.
Reposted from
John Scalzi
"I need a story like 'The Red Shoes' but make it, you know, casual"
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She began to notice piles of cat hair.
Anna did not own a cat.
Weeks.
Months.
Coated in crumbs, mildly dehydrated, Anna began to look at the cat hair and sneeze.
And sneeze.
Sneeze.
Sneeze.
Each sneeze, her gritty eyelids tried desperately to close, but the pants demanded relaxation. Demanded Netflix.
When her body was found, the paramedics could only conclude that perhaps, somehow, she'd sneezed with her eyes open. The pressure was too much.
And one EMT couldn't help but notice.
Those sweatpants looked awfully comfy.