The favorite blanket

If I had to go on a Sound of Music style naming binge of all the good things in the world, somewhere in there would be the favorite blanket. It's that piece of fabric that on rainy days, after failed tests, with a bowl of icecream, a favorite book, or whatever else is your personal catnip, you are content to curl up with and sit in blissful, comatose lethargy. It's Leo Bloom from the producer's panic button, Linus of Peanuts constant companion, and one of the few things in many childhoods as ever-present as our cell phones are now. If you've ever had one, you know that blanket.

Mine used to be what I called dino-blankey. I found it the other day cleaning out my room before going to Spain and took a long moment to think of days gone by. I would take that thing through mud puddles, living room forts, Pokemon-inspired romps through the woods, and rolling down grassy hills on a daily basis. Understandably it ended up about as bedraggled and grisly as Snooki after a night at the bar, without all of the unfortunate side connotations. My mom, ever the faithful caretaker managed to repair the thing some countless dozen times, but inexorably it grew ever patchier. The memento sitting in my closet is a cobweb of cotton that still makes me smile whenever I chance across it.

Is it just me that hoards these things? I have dozens of similar 'treasures' stowed away in random bags and boxes in the obscure corners of my house. It feels like a Toy Story inspired tragedy where the haunted soul of a once loved possession calls out to its owner begging not to be tossed whenever I consider trimming things down. How could I ever throw away the favorite blanket though? Do you have any relics like that?

Best,
Tim