Cotton Candy, Spin Art, and Blue Jeans

Weird things that I find soothing

I like watching videos of slip-covers being put on sofas.

This is one of the things on my “List of Article Ideas.” Yes, I have a list of article ideas. If I’m really going to keep this up for a year, I’m going to need it. One day I was scrolling through Facebook, as one does, and there was an ad for slip-covers. I’m not going to buy a slip-cover, but I watched the ad all the way through anyway. I found myself wondering aloud,

“What am I doing? Why am I watching this?”

The closest answer is that for some odd reason it brings me comfort. That seemed weird, so I thought maybe it would be an interesting article one day. I especially love the moment when the person’s hand tucks the cover into the space between the seat of the sofa and the back of the sofa and suddenly it is all smooth and looks great. In fact, it is surprising that I haven’t purchased at least three of these slip-covers already. But, I have learned something over the years. I do know that even if I bought one, the slip-cover would never look as good on my stained couch as it does on the ad.

Weird things bring me comfort. When I was younger I thought it must mean I’m really weird. Now, I know that this is true for everyone. Not everyone is comforted by the same things, but everyone has something that is just a bit unusual that comforts them. Apparently Facebook makes a living at knowing these eccentricities. I also get lots of ads for cake decorating and slicing clay. The other day one popped up that was just cotton candy being spun onto the paper tube. I absolutely love watching that!

When I think of cotton candy, I remember the fall carnival that my elementary school had each year. There were different events in different teachers’ rooms. The science teacher had spin art every single year. Oh, how I loved the spin art.

I probably love it for mutliple reasons. I’ve never been able to draw very well. When I draw a stick figure, it often looks like it has a third leg, or a penis depending on what’s on your mind. Seriously, I can’t even draw a stick figure! So, I think the spin art appealed to me because anyone can do it. Just lock the piece of cardboard or paper plate into the apparatus, start spinning, and pour tempura paint onto it until you are satisfied. I also loved it because it was comforting to me to watch the paint spread out along the board into interesting patterns. Weird things comfort me.

I have a habit that I’ve talked with only a few people about in my life. It seems so bizarre that it has always embarrassed me. There are very few things that embarrass me so much that I DON’T talk about them. I think it is connected to a baby blanket that I had growing up. It may be hard to explain, but I’ll try.

I take the bottom seam of the pants leg on my blue jeans and I squeeze it between my index finger and middle finger. So, if I’m wearing blue jeans in your presence and you pay close attention, you will notice that I either prop one ankle on the other knee so that I can reach that seam or I may even lean down and pull the pants leg up toward me. This worked especially well in school when sitting in a desk. I do it out of habit anytime I’m wearing jeans, but if my anxiety is especially high, I really go to town on it.

I’ve done this as long as I can remember. I don’t wear blue jeans as often as I used to, so sometimes if I’m walking by a pile of clothes and I see my blue jeans there, I will stop and fondle them for a moment. If Hubby is wearing blue jeans and I’m sitting right next to him and no one else is around, it is likely that I will pull on his for a while. That sounds dirtier than it should. I literally reach over and grab the leg of his jeans and do the same thing as I do with my own. He is usually very patient with me about this. But, after a couple of minutes, he will say,

“Okay, that’s enough.”

The sensation is also hard to describe. It is hard to describe because it feels REALLY GOOD to me, but it also hurts. I know it hurts because it causes callouses to raise on my fingers. When I wore jeans all the time, in my teens and twenties, I had a permanent callous on my finger from squeezing my jeans so much. It is embarrassing to admit to doing such a thing. I’ve never even admitted doing this to a therapist so I’ve never gotten to the bottom of the WHY I do it. I do have a theory, though.

I had a blanket from the moment I was born — don’t we all? I had a blanket that was made by someone in the church. Everyone decided I was going to be a boy. I don’t know why. There had been no ultrasound to suggest such a thing, but the women in the church JUST KNEW I would be a boy. Maybe they all hoped for a boy because my parents had two girls and boy before me. Maybe they expected God would balance it all out somehow. I don’t know.

Because she thought I would be a boy, the woman who quilted my blanket, made it blue. But, it had some small pink things on it too. My mom and I were talking about this the other day and she said they were lots of different colors and lots of different shapes. I can’t really remember that part, but I remember the way the blanket felt in my hand.

Mom has always told me that I was just like Linus from the Peanuts cartoon dragging my blanket behind me everywhere I went. I held it in my right hand, sucking my thumb. I think I would wrap it around my fingers and squeeze it. This is the only explanation I can come up with for the weirdest of the weird things that I find soothing. I think when I squeeze my blue jeans that I am reenacting squeezing my Blankie as a toddler. It calms me down. It gives me a sense of peace. It soothes me.

One time I had a pair of jeans that I had worn out. They just needed to be thrown away. Before I threw them out, Hubby suggested that I cut the bottom hem off so that I would have it to hold and squeeze whenever I wanted to. (What a thoughtful Hubby!) I did. And, I tried it. I really did. But, it wasn’t the same. There is something about the tension caused by stretching the pant leg that makes the sensation feel the best. Without the tension, with just a free-floating bottom hem, it just was not satisfying at all. Weird, right?

Blankie was dragged everywhere my family went for years. It spent a lot of time with me at church camp. When it would get too dirty for my mother to stand, she would wash it. After several years, it started falling apart. By the time I had to say goodbye to Blankie, it was just a shredded piece of fabric, faded and small. I don’t really remember that day, but I know it was a sad one.

I don’t remember how they eventually got the last piece away from me. They probably told me the Blankie Monster came and took it away or a cat took it or that Blankie had to go on to help other kids or some other such nonsense that parents tell kids when they have to take away something they love. It was just a scrap. It couldn’t go on, but I wish I still had it. I’m sentimental and nostalgic like that.

Facebook ads and blue jeans will have to do.