Toasty Tushies

It has been a cold and damp day here in Minnesota. The wind is howling outside the window to ensure that you are aware of its presence. The leaves dance and whip across the road . . . well only the ones that haven't been weighted down by the rain. It is dark and somewhat gloomy. My fingers and toes are freezing. **Side Note: Troy calls them 'ice picks' when they get this cold. It is fun to 'attack' him with my ice picks by sticking them on his back or stomach. He doesn't like this game for some reason.** So, on my way home from work today, I turned on my seat warmers for the first time this season. In just a few minutes, my tushie was nice and toasty. They were cozy amist the depressing and unpredictable elements.

I love my heated seats. They are the best thing I have in my car. I didn't even request them. I never even thought about it when I bought my car a few years ago. The model at the dealership just happened to have them and that was the one I bought. Since I bought my car in May, I didn't reap the full benefits of this added feature for a few months . . . and then, it changed my life. I don't know if I can ever own a car without heated seats now, especially since I live in Minnesota.

Because of my beloved heated seats, my car has been dubbed, "the winter car" meaning that when Troy and I take long car trips, we use his car in the warmer months and mine in the colder months. More often than not, I have driven/ridden from the Twin Cities to Chicago with my heated seats on the entire time. I love them. They are like a satisfying hug! They make you feel nice when your feet are wet and your hands are, well, ice picks. Thankfully there are two heat settings. I always start out with the highest heat setting, because I am usually cold and want to warm up quickly. Then, my tushie might start to feel like a rotisserie chicken so I switch to the lower setting. Not so oven-like, but still very nice. It's fantastic.

Sometimes, heated seats can work against you. My mom had heated seats in her Durango. When my sister and I would ride in there, we would turn on the other person's seats while they weren't looking. By the time you realized that the seat was on, it was too late. Your rump was roasted. It would have normally been a welcoming feeling except we would do this in the middle of summer when the last thing you need is more heat.

I would like to end this blog with a poem: . . . . . . (ahem) . . . . . .

Ode to my Heated Seats
You are a lovely comfort.
Though I cannot feel my appendages,
You warm my rear and lower back.
Everyone loves you.
By everyone, I mean, specifically me.