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Happiness is a Warm Blanket

Bunny is 28, the same age as me, but she is significantly more busted up than I am.  In stuffed animal years, 28 is like 110 people years.  Even though 90 percent of her stuffing has fallen out and she’s not as corporal as she once was I just mush her up into a ball when I need something more substantial to hold on to.  And her ears, the prime location for sniffing when I need to relax, have more or less disintegrated.  Undaunted, I have moved on to her paws that, without stuffing, now have the same sniffable qualities as her ears once did.  Bunny definitely looks every minute of her years, but what can you expect after 28 years of being dragged around house or apartment and slept with nightly.  Yes. My name is Luci Furious, and I still sleep with a comfort object.

Linus and blanketI’m not the only one who still sleeps with a comfort object.  A probably unscientific study conducted by Travelodge back in August 2010 found that 35% of adults admitted to sleeping with a stuffed animal.  And those are just the ones who admitted it, imagine how many more are trying to hide their shame!

Of course, I already knew that I wasn’t alone.  Despite my mom’s pleas when I went to college that maybe Bunny should stay home, I dragged her across the country.  That’s where we met Muffin, Midnight, Bubba, Green Blanket, and Care Bear ““ all comfort objects who were similarly tired and worn out, but had made the trek to college with their owners.  It was then that I knew I would never need to give up Bunny.  I will probably be buried with her tattered remains, and I’m ok with that.  Mr. Furious has been accepting of Bunny, even though he calls her an “it”, when she is obviously female.  And I’ve noticed that when he makes the bed, Bunny gets stuffed under the pillows.  But other than that, he knows that when he’s spooning me, I’m spooning what’s left of Bunny, and we’re all happy with that.

The Velveteen Rabbit always resonated with me, even though my mom knew that I would jump up out of a coma if anyone ever tried to throw out Bunny just because I’d had a little Scarlet Fever.  Even though at this point Bunny is more Horror Film than Beloved Children’s Book.  Maybe something like Chucky’s Transitional Object.  She only has one eye after I pulled the other one out in my sleep and never bothered to sew it back on.  Her remaining eye is tangled in a knot located in what is more a fabric spider web than a face.  Her ears are hanging on by a thread, and are located a good six inches away from what would be her face.   Only two of her paws still have stuffing in them, and they are the only parts that still have stuffing.  Her current incarnation belies her roots as a baby blanket.  She was sewn into a Bunny when I was 6 in my mom’s futile efforts to get me to stop sucking my thumb.  I sucked my thumb for two more years and I’ve never spent more than a couple weeks without Bunny.  Bunny’s color has been described as “slobber-colored” ““ sort of a grayish greenish brownish yellow.  I actually have trouble seeing her actual color, because much like Norman Bates seeing his mother’s half-mummified body as living, I still see Bunny as her original pale yellow.  Bunny probably hasn’t been able to be described as pale yellow in 15 years, but there you go.  There is an orange spot on her arm where some silly putty got stuck to her and never came off. “Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” -By Margery Williams, from The Velveteen Rabbit

I don’t go so far as to romanticize my relationship with Bunny as one of “oh, she has always been there for me” and all that.  She’s a stuffed animal (more or less) and I like to sniff her ears when I’m watching tv or going to sleep, that’s all.   Although if I ever get Scarlet Fever, you better Lysol that shit and give her back to me or I’ll cut a bitch.

So fess up in the comments, who still sleeps with a comfort object?

2 replies on “Happiness is a Warm Blanket”

Bartholomew is 26 years old and I still remember the day I got him. He was a birthday present from my aunt. He got a fancy name because my dad and I had just seen Spaceballs and John Candy’s Barfolomew made a pretty big impression on me, but there was no way I was naming a teddy bear “Barf.” My husband has learned to treat him with respect – I get a little irrational when his seams are in danger. I think it was about five years ago that I gave in and started taking him along when I travel because it’s silly to sleep like crap on vacation.

I have Baby Squirrel who will turn 33 this Xmas. He is a small Dakin animal stuffed with ground nutshells. Not sure how but he has remained with me all these years. Must be due to his durability. My husbands dislikes him, so I used to hide Baby Squirrel in his knapsack, brief case, lunch basket. He rides in my car now.

My brother had an elephant named Bozo. Bozo was one of those cheapy 60’s toys that were filled with sawdust, whose fur rubbed off. Bozo was loved to death. There was nothing left for my mom to sew. He bled sawdust and it was dangerous. My mother concocted a story about an extremely poor boy who couldn’t afford a a single toy and Bozo would be a charitable donation. Through teary generous eyes my brother relinquished ownership of Bozo.

And for many years I still slept with a stuffed animal in the marital bed. What of it??

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