Kids have comfort toys. Right? Kids. Alex has a rabbit which gets abused daily. You recall how he Alex rubbed his chicken-poxy bum on rabbits face, laughing the whole time? Ed also an abundance of comfort toys. None however, more important that his security blanket. Silky Bilky. (Ed’s nan can’t get to grips with it being called Silky Bilky. She called it Blanky Wanky once. “Here you go darling, here is your blanky wanky”. No no, mum. No. I was chatting this through with a friend who told me that when she was little and her mum used to brush her hair, if it was knotty her mum would say it was “clitty”. She would curse as she brushed her daughters hair “I need to get at these clits!”. This has nothing to do with the blog, it just always makes me laugh. “Ooooh looks at those clits”.)
Anyway. On a good night, when Alex stays in his own cot, there are still actually three of us in my marital bed. In my best Lady Di voice; “There are 3 of us in this relationship, sometimes it gets a bit crowded”. Yes. Yes it does Di.
Every night, without fail, in my bed there is me, my husband and this.
This is Teddy Blue. He is 34 years old. He is blind. His head is tied on with rope.
If Teddy Blue and Blanky Wanky, sorry Silky Bilky met at a party it would go like this;
Teddy Blue, meet Blanky Wanky. You both smell like feet and boys changing rooms. Teddy Blue once had a face but it got rubbed away so now he is blind and cant smell himself to realise he stinks. He is so filthy that he accidently holds the secret to curing many diseases in the world, the secrets are kept in his rubbed down fur. He is the todays equivilant of Andrew Flemmings penicillin petri dish. Teddy Blue meet Blanky Wanky, sorry, I mean Silky Bilky. Silky bilky has 6 identical siblings, 5 of which have been lost around shops and parks. He likes falling down the back of the bed during the night and causing chaos at 3am.
I used to have a “There There” that was one of those yellow cellular blankets with a silky edge. I used to rip holes in it and put it on my head and pretend I had long blonde hair. Pretty. *strokes short wispy ginger bob strands and smiles whimsically and sighs*. It was nice to flick about and feel all girly and like Kylie. Bald until 3 years old apart from some fuzzy bum fluff on my head, looking a lot like Julia Roberts “Notting Hill” premier arm pit…
…I appreciated the fabric wig.
One day my brother tied it in a bundle of knots and put it on the top of the lounge door. Git.
I still have There There. Here she is.
She looks like the intestines of a sea beast. Or something Signourney Weaver would battle in space. But There There has accepted her aging gracefully and has retired to a drawer where she spends her days next to husbands old jock strap and some old photos from Uni. I don’t want her anywhere near my bed or my face. She knows her place. Touching her to even take this photo made me feel all itchy. It was sort of nice going down memory lane looking at her, but she firmly needs to stay in that lane and nowhere near my John Lewis bedding.
A collegue once told me that to get rid of Teddy Blues germs I should put him in the freezer overnight – he had seen this on a documentary. When I suggested this to my husband, I may as well have said I was going to stab Teddy Blue with needles, cover him in jam and shove him in a wasps nest, then cover Teddy Blue in lighter fluid, set fire to him and film it for You Tube.
“PUT HIM IN THE FREEZER!?” he hissed at me “He will DIE”.
I think he died a long time ago, darling. That smell? That’s his rotting carcass.
“Anyway” says husband “one of the boys might want him”.
No, no. Never will they be given the option. I want our children to stay healthy. And to have girlfriends. I want Grandchildren.
As much as I hate to admit it, I do however have a begrudging respect for Teddy Blue. He is as hard as nails. He is a double hard bastard. I mean, look at him. He is like every baddy in a Hollywood Horror Movie – terrifying to look at, and he just wont die. His most recent refusal to give up the ghost was when I opened the washing machine and he tumbled out with a poopy little plop on to the lino. Now, looking more like Teddy Powder Blue. (“I swear Officer, it was an accident. Lets go for manslaughter, not attempted murder please for the love of GOD! He got caught up in the bed linen!”).
“fuuuuuuuuuuuu***************k” went I.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. Well, I imagined him staring. He doesnt have any eyes left… He was trying to give me the evil though.
“Got you now, biatch. That boy is all mine” he tried to say…but he doesn’t have a mouth so he said it with mind waves.
I frantically dialed the two people I knew would understand in the whole world what I had just done. Husbands mum. And Husbands ex-girlfriend. Yes, I rang his ex. It was that serious…
I am tired of being woken up in the middle of the night because husband is trying to turn me over in bed (no, nothing that exciting) and is hissing at me “what have you done with him?! Where is he?!”, convinced I have hidden him somewhere. Like the bin. I haven’t. BUT, maybe, just maybe it is time I went to a drawer, shoved the old jockstrap aside, put the uni photos in to albums and said;
“Teddy Blue meet There There” and they could live happily ever after.