Pink Blanket

When I was young I was one of those “blanket kids”. I didn’t however drag it around with me everywhere probably because it was twin sized. (Actually there were two, a set you know). But it did have the requisite silky edging and it needed to be somewhere in the bed at night. One reason being that it had particular monster blocking powers when placed over one’s head. It also had that particular “make you feel better when you are sick’ ability. It was both warmer and cooler than all other blankets.

Odd that it was the preferred blanket because I generally hate pink passionately. Nowadays all my bedclothes are in black, wine red, and pine green. The occasional gold or cream is allowed but never seems to last. I do have a yellow and blue summer quilt (in the “Yellow Brick Road” pattern) which to me is visually jarring but was made by the “Knight’s Ladies Quilting Club” who deemed me quiltworthy and totally honoured me with it. It’s a nice weight as well so it stays half the year.

But back to the deal with the pink blanket. It became a single word as in “Maaa didja washmuh pingblanget?” or “Maaa wersmuh pingblanget?” Oh “Maa”, the things you put up with. Well, perhaps she would like to know that her vengeance (whether intended or not) was effective. One day when I was 14 all pink blankets disappeared. Unacceptable. Even though at that point they had been relegated to folded up at the foot of the bed status, they were necessary to life. I completely freaked out. There was a raging three day argument. There were tears and accusations. There was the rending of the garbage cans to no avail. Pingblanget(s) was gone.

And I’m (apparently) still vaguely pissed about it. It’s times like these when I could stand a little bout of pingblanget comfort.