My wife and I were discussing blankets recently, and how no matter how hot it is, we need a blanket covering some part of us to fall asleep. I only need a blanket covering my feet, and I can tell you why.
It was in the mid eighties, and I was learning to read. I started with a book about a cat who tries, and fails, to mimic what he sees on TV (I can’t honestly remember what this book is called). However, shortly after I started reading, I acquired a book called The Thingumajig Book of Manners by Irene and Dick Keller. Just looking at the cover sends shivers down my spine.
There’s something about the way they’re drawn that’s unsettling, but the most unsettling part was near the end (forgive me for not getting it right. I’d rather not actually look at the book anymore), about how they would eat your feet or toes. It could have even been them eating their own toenails. I have no clue.
I distinctly remember, as a young child, making sure my blanket was covering my feet, and tucked under the bottom of the foot of mattress. I would drift off to sleep, staring down towards the foot of my bed, terrified that a Thingumajig would pop its long-nosed, dark-haired head over the edge of my bed, give a sadistic, shrieking laugh, and then begin to gobble my toes. Shudder.
And that probably explains me.
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