Thank you Linus for paving the path.....

So I get told all the time that my "security blanket," which is not in fact a blanket at all, is in fact a small pink pillow named Pelle (pronounced Pell E). They all say it's ridiculous and I am too old. Well, as it happens, Pelle has provided me with much comfort and amusement to me, my family, and my friends throughout the years. And all you haters out there have your thing. Countless teddies, Frankie's, ba's, doggies, bunnies, ribbon wubbies, and the silky edges of blankets. You know who you are!

Pelle is an anomaly all his own. I would compare him to George Foreman's children, in the sense that this one right here is actually Pelle the 13th or something like that. He began as a blue pillow in my crib and evolved from my mom's nightgown that was made of a silky man-made fabric that reeked on middle class America. She ran out of blue somewhere around 6th grade and then he became pink. Through the years he has been fat, skinny, with fluff, without fluff, turned into a Travel Pelle for big adventures like going to Europe or anywhere where some mean person would lose my luggage. He now travels in my carry-on purse at all times. Nobody's taking my Pelle.

The fact of the matter is, he has been swiped before. My sister once stuck him in the freezer and she has repeatedly taken him when I wasn't looking and put it down her shirt, fully knowing I wasn't going down that road. I would scream and complain until my mom yelled at us. This was last week.

I have two dogs, Ellie (a beagle mix) and Tinkie (a Shetland sheepdog). Both of them are often on the prowl, Snoopy-style, trying to steal my Pelle. Envy is their sin. Sometimes I'll shove him under their little head's while they nap, but most of the time he's mine, mine, MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






So I thank you Linus van Pelt, for paving the way for me to be open in confronting my needs for a security blanket and countless hours of amusement for the people in my life. He will be with me someday, under my head, in my final resting place. The man I marry will just have to understand that I am weird and that Pelle is part of the deal, just like Ellie Moosebutt. No Pelle, no dice.