What I really think about security blankets.

Where can I begin this story??

I guess I will start in my childhood, in my bedroom with a slanted ceiling and no windows, and a twin-sized bed with a brown metal frame. That bed held a number of important elements of my life at the time–my pink rose comforter, my Sparky Bear, and (most importantly) the pillow I slept with every night. The former two items have become less and less prominent over the years (though I still love ya, Sparky!), but to this day the pillow has not fallen away from me. Like so many children, I found the pillow to be a sort of security blanket for me.

And this was no ordinary pillow, folks. It was old and flat and had the best, most comforting scent, and through my off times and weird childhood insomnia, burying my face in the pillow just made everything feel better, and knowing it was there when I went to sleep at night was the best kind of constant. As a small child, I would refuse to let my mother wash the pillowcase, for fear of it losing it’s smell.

(Of course now that I’m a mature and intelligent, level-headed adult, I launder my bedding more frequently. I also figured out that it doesn’t take long for that scent to come back, and sort of never goes away anyway.)

Through the years, the pillow adorned many different looks–early on it was a double-sided Burt and Ernie/Big Bird pillowcase, and then a light pink flannel one (that became so worn down it was no longer soft flannel, but the flat cotton base), a purple cotton pillowcase, a tie-dyed pillowcase, an orange and yellow striped case, and most recently a cool, very pale green, very soft cotton pillowcase.

While the pillow and I have grown apart slightly over the years, it is still on my bed every night, and it is still the pillow that I hold in the highest esteem.

And the other night, after a long drive back from Bellingham to Portland, while I was passing seemingly endless bowls (and joint, and lung hits, and etc.) with an old friend, Tank pissed on my pillow.

(A quick aside in case it hadn’t been mentioned before–Tank is an adorable, quirky, shithead of a black Pomeranian-Terrier mix who belongs to Taylor and her best friend/our roommate Angela.)

I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you I was upset. I didn’t take it personally though, since when Tank has an accident inside, he does it on the run. I guess if you’re gonna get busted for peeing inside, you might as well go balls to the wall and hit as much shit with your urine as you can, and he does.

It was late at this point, and I was stoned, so I left the laundry to be dealt with at a later time, without thinking about it too much.

Until I went to bed, of course, and found that the only thing awaiting my head now was a spare, uncovered pillow. And (aside from not only lacking my security blanket, but knowing that it was somewhere with urine on it) here was my dilemma: the idea of a naked pillow, uncased against my face while I sleep, really freaks me out in a weird, germ-phobic, obsessive way, but all of our clean pillowcases were downstairs in the laundry room, and hell if I was marching my high ass down there just for a fancy cotton sack to line my pouch of fluff.

And so, I decided to cover my pillow with a clean, soft, button-less, cotton t-shirt.

After a look through my clothes, I selected a white shirt with coral polka dots from Value Village, that I have hung onto for years but rarely wear.

I put the shirt on the pillow, and it seemed to fit well, but I was nervous that the shirt was too short, or would ride up over the pillows hips in the night and gather at it’s waist while I slept, leaving my face once again vunerable to the bare pillow underneath! (Yes, these thought processes are tiring.)

So, looking around, the best solution I could come up with was to cover the bottom of the pillow in the brand-spankin’ new blue-with-pink-roses clearance granny panties I had recently purchased from work (out of curiosity, really). Just to be extra safe, I tucked the shirt into the oversized underwear, and voila! As you can see, the outcome (as pictured above) was somewhat of a masterpiece, and a the very least a blessing in disguise!

After the completion of this piece of beauty, I named her Granny Pillow, stood her upright and tucked her under my chin (in a manner that made it look as though I was actually wearing a shirt with pink-polka dots, tucked into granny panties) and giggled while doing my best sexy dance for Taylor. Har har har.

I love you, Granny Pillow, though you really aren’t a sufficient replacement for my old faithful.

In other news, I realized today that I only posted five blog entries last month, and that really is no good.


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3 responses to “What I really think about security blankets.

  1. You’re a fantastic writer and now I’m back on wordpress you can consider yourself to have a loyal reader 🙂

  2. lianamerlo

    This is classic.
    You weren’t joking when you said granny panties, damn those are huge.

  3. How very inventive!
    My kid had a security blanket…well, not really security blanket, since he was quite capable of living without it, he just had this little blanket that he’d drag around when he was tired to curl up under, wherever he was. ANYWAY, one day, I decided the damn thing was wearing thin. So I took him to the fabric store and let him pick out an assortment of fabrics, and I told him I’d sew him a new little quilt if he let me throw that old blanket in the garbage. He willingly agreed, because really, all he did was drag the old blanket from the bed to the couch every morning and curl up, until he fully woke up. It really wasn’t a security thing at all.
    So, I sewed him up this nice little quilt with all the fabrics he had picked out, and I tossed the ratty old sucker in the garbage.
    He never once dragged the new blanket from the bed to the couch, the wake-up ritual had ended. He couldn’t have cared less.
    I on the other hand, was devastated. Dumbass. I was almost willing to go digging through the dump to get the damn thing back.
    The moral of my story? Don’t ever throw that pillow out. EVER.

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