bummer.

blankReading Burgh Baby’s account of the traumatic loss of a Dora sock and recent developments at home have prompted me to offer a confession here — I still have a bumma.

Or a blankie.

Or whatever they’re called in your house.

I was really attached to me bumma as a kid — in fact, I had two, a yellow one when I was very young, and a powder blue one that went everywhere with me until … that day.

The family isn’t sure exactly where “that day” took place, but it might have been at a hotel in Breezewood, at the start of one of those three-weeks-in-the-station wagon vacations. I remember what the hotel looked like — it was a two-story motor lodge kind of thing, and I remember looking out the door of our room up what seemed to be the steepest, greenest mountainside I had ever seen.

Maybe the scenery was distracting. Maybe the tight schedule we were keeping on the way to Florida or wherever it was made me hustle out the door without my blanket.

I don’t know the reason. I do know we were far enough down the road when I made the discovery that there was no way we were going back to retrieve my blanket. I know it was traumatic, and I’m sure I made it clear to everyone how upset I was, at least for a while.

And then I was blanketless.

Until just a few years ago, when The Wife — who was then The Girlfriend — brought some hospital blankets to whatever apartment we were sharing at the time. They’re a soft, woven cotton, cool on warm nights and awesome under a comforter during the winter. I loved them instantly.

I’m not sure when I started using one as a pillow, but for the last several years, that blanket has been a constant companion, traveling with us on vacations, weekend football trips — even, I think, on our honeymoon.

It’s been getting a bit threadbare recently — helped along, I’m sure, by washing it in hot water and bleach — and on its last trip through the washer, it occurred to me that it’s near the end of its life. I washed it with a couple of button-down shirts, which both ended up like mackerels in fishnets. I actually had to cut the blanket in a couple of places to extract the shirts.

It’s time for a new bumma. And that’s going to be kind of a challenge. I could buy them by the case, but I’m not sure what I’d do with 24 bummas. There are similar blankets at Target — but not quite the same thing. I’m going to look around a bit, in hopes that I find a suitable replacement before the current bumma dissolves into a pile of thread.

In the meantime, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Really.

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7 thoughts on “bummer.”

  1. I still have my “blue blanky” (even though it’s actually green). That thing used to go through so much with me when I was a kid. And it’s been with me through high school, college, dating and marriage. And yes, I still have my blue blanky. Don’t believe me? Ask Sorg.

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  2. Dammit. You are the second person to say that losing something as a kid left you still missing it as an adult. When are you next going to Columbus? I might need you to hunt down a stupid Dora sock.

    BTW, I have Joey Bunny, and if anybody dares lay a finger on my most favoritest stuffed animal, I will cut them.

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  3. BBM: We’re not heading home until early January. But I might be able to organize a search party in the meantime.

    Or — could you just buy another Dora sock and run over it a few times? That would look pretty authentic…

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  4. Wow. It takes a real man to admit he loves his blankey. Pretty sure I have one of the hospital ones at my house if you come up empty handed. Let me know.

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  5. There could be a Bumma give-away! Everyone could get and cherish a Bumma… think about the awesome gift theme you could go through for Christmas this year! Wrap people’s gifts in them! Use them to cushion bigger fragile gifts…

    Or just give them the wonderful blanket with a candy cane…

    :)

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  6. UC, if you wash your bumma in a big bag like the one The Wife washes her unmentionables in you’ll eliminate snagging. I could get kicked out of Man’s World for offering up that little tidbit.

    Gotta run and remodel a bathroom, mow the grass, have a shot and a beer and rebuild a transmission. I might be able to regain entry into Man’s World. Maybe.

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