That New Blanket Smell

I've been breaking in a new blanket lately, one I acquired while shopping for toys for little girls. I found the blanket in the blanket section, not the toys for little girls section. This was right before Christmas. Rather than actually accomplish my task, which was to buy toys for little girls-- gifts for my nieces, I found myself upon a more feminine pursuit: I was looking for a new set of sheets, as it was time to change the sheets on my bed and I was too busy (read: lazy) to do laundry. Well, one thing led to another and now I’m writing a post about my new favorite blanket. It’s actually a quilt. I think.

Here’s something about myself I’m okay with: I love blankets. I do. They’re great. I love ‘em. I love large blankets, small blankets – even medium-sized blankets. I love all types: quilts, bedspreads, comforters, throws, sheets (they’re a type of blanket, right?) There are probably other words for “fabric used to trap body heat while resting” that I haven’t yet learned. Oh! Sleeping bags! That’s a really specialized kind of blanket. I have a down comforter that I don’t use, although I have two different duvets for it. It’s made for a twin bed but it’s the perfect size for a queen, because it fits perfectly well on the top of the mattress, without draping over the sides, thereby preventing gravity from pulling the down down along the edges in thermally inefficient lumps.

My new blanket still has that new quilt feel. Stiff, a little uncooperative, slightly annoying -- like morning wood. But with continued use and frequent washing, which will likely be infrequent, its fibers will stretch, its seams will ease, its threads will relax. It will become soft and soothing and might even earn a permanent place upon my bed, except on summer nights when a single sheet is all this Peacock needs to nest up for the night.

I'm not sure where this peculiar taste of mine comes from. For those wondering, no, I wasn't that fucked up little kid who couldn't sleep unless he had his ratty, tattered Big Bird blankie tucked tensely against his chest. My childhood was fucked up for different reasons, but not something ridiculous like that.

I guess I’m just one of those guys that likes a good blanket.