Ducky and I go way back

When I was a tiny kid, my parents, both good soldiers, were stationed in Germany. This meant we had no money, but lots of cheap goods by way of the commissary. One item we had in surplus was those scratchy green Army blankets. Do you know the ones I’m talking about? They have that “nice” satin edging and the wool pills and gets in your hair while you’re sleeping? You know?

Well, one day my mom had it with me and my sister whining about how the blankets smelled and made us itch and were green. You could understand why two girls under six were almost insulted by the green. So my mom very cleverly took us to the fabric section of the commissary (man, have you guys ever been inside one of those places?), told us to pick a fabric we liked, and let us loose.

My sister picked a light grey fabric with little itty bitty teddy bears dressed in some weird costume all over it. I picked a white fabric (was my mom on crack?) with little itty bitty ducks wearing sailor caps all over it. She took these fabric pieces and made us blankets. She simply sewed one of those damn green blankets inside of the fabric. Because she was an awesome mom, she also made us matching pillowcases. How cool is that if you’re a little kid? I mean, my sister and I were convinced we were destined to pick out fabrics for bedrooms (we didn’t know the term interior designer yet) when we grew up. Our beds looked way awesome.

The thing is, my mom thought that we’d get over the love of the blankets. But let me tell you, those blankets are the warmest blankets ever. As I was packing to leave for college, I folded Ducky and put it in the bag to take with me and my mom looked over, saw it in the bag and said (I swear this is a direct quote), “Oh, my GOD!! YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT. What will your roommate THINK?”

Because let me tell you, Ducky has been well loved. There are bloodstains on Ducky from bloody noses (as a twelve year old, I had blood pressure as high as a sixty year old four pack a day smoker), a strange pinkish stain I think is from vomit, and several holes that have been sewed inexpertly back together (by yours truly) with thread ranging in color from green (to match the blanket inside!) to black to white. My mother was appalled. She honestly thought Ducky should be trashed. But, I mean, it’s WARM. And I’ve had it since I was like three!! It doesn’t smell. And it’s DUCKY.

When I moved to Minneapolis five years later, my mother saw Ducky in the U-Haul and rolled her eyes. “What does your boyfriend think about that blanket?” she snerked at me.

Today I was making my bed (Ducky is always the first blanket on the bed and the only thing left on the bed when I kick the sheets, pillow, and other blankets to the ground) and I thought about what’s going to happen when Biker Boy and I inevitably move in together. Biker Boy better like Ducky.