Also in the Stash of Regrettable Childhood: my security blanket, or as I called it, my Cribby.
Everybody, meet Cribby. Or...what's left of it.
Cribby was, at one time, a fitted crib sheet, though the elastic has been gone for about as long as I can remember, and even photos of me with Cribby as a little girl show that it was pretty much a shredded pile of a sadness bowl since very early on too. I don't recall how old I was when I finally allowed my mom to put it away for good, though I know there were at least a couple aborted attempts that ended with me walking into her room and shamefully requesting it back. Cribby didn't come on my honeymoon or anything though, so go me.
Today, Cribby reminds me of a Regretsy-worthy scarf offering:
I would totally try to sell it for $50 as a FELTED VINTAGE COTTON HAND-KNOTTED AVANT-GARDE OOAK HIPSTER DOUCHEBAG NECKERSCARF if it weren't for a couple mysterious reddish stains on one edge: I am pretty sure biohazards will get you negative feedback on Etsy.
(I had a back-up Cribby for when the A-squad one was in the wash. It held up a little better, and has just as many modern-day fashion possibilities:
WHIMSICLE VINTAGE CAPESHAWL HAND-TORN WITH LOVE, AGED SALIVA GIVES UNIQUE CRUNCH/SHAPE/STRUCTURE, MULTIPLE HOLES ALLOW MULTIPURPOSE STYLING.)
I suppose, now that I've finished mocking them, I can throw them both out. I mean, it's one thing for my mom to save them, but me? Well. Yeah. That's weird. I'll just...put them back in a shopping bag for now, though. Until trash day, or something. I might need to think about it a little more.
By the way, Ezra would like to introduce you to Curtain.
Don't worry, baby. I'll hold onto Curtain for you someday too.