Blanket Supremacy

Lounging near the top of this grassy tree-lined hill of Central Park, I feel a certain supremacy over my fellow sun-bathers, book-readers and people-watchers.  This authority comes not so much from my physical location on the upper slope; rather, it comes from my assessment of the palettes on which each is perched.  Some sit on towels or sheets, no less grabbed from a bathroom rack or unmade bed; some sit on the spread of a newspaper or lean against the bulge of a bag; two old timers sit in tailgate chairs (although, judging by their elaborate unfolding of said chairs and this being New York City, I’m sure the chairs have never actually been used for tailgating); and some sit on the nearby rocks while some sit in the grass on nothing at all. 

I, on the other hand, get no less than two inquiries about my palette from envious admirers every time I parade it into the park (which is a lot of interest considering no one else is getting any).  So it’s no wonder that when one of those wistful afghan-stuffed-in-a-lumpy-bag peons timidly approaches me like I’m the Homecoming Queen of the park and wants to know where I got this coolest new accessory, I smile smugly and agree – “yes, it is the greatest, isn’t it?”

With a features and benefits spiel that would make my Personal Selling 101 professor proud, I proceed to showoff the amazingness that is my blanket:

The All-Weather Blanket is a five foot by five foot lightly cushioned palette that neatly folds into a thin rectangle with an easy to manage zipper; the color-coordinated strap is adjustable – short for carrying on your shoulder or long for strapping diagonally across your body; when folded, the large exterior pocket makes an additional purse unnecessary, and the folded padding and sturdy zipper create the perfect laptop carrying case; the blanket is machine washable, which is a rare need considering the material is easy to brush off and not prone to grass stains.  It is, in fact, the perfect blanket.

And then comes my favorite part.  I love it partly because it adds to the eliteness of my blanket and partly because I enjoy that how I got it makes me special (to my mom, at least).  After I’ve riddled through how wonderful the blanket is, and I have my aspiring audience hanging breathlessly, with expectant, hopeful eyes, they ask, “Well, where did you get it?  Where can I get one?!”  I put on my best sorry-to-have-to-tell-you face: “Actually, you can’t get it here in the city.  My mom sent it to me…in a summer care package…from Alabama.”  With their faces glum and hopes of Homecoming coolness dashed, I toss my hair and offer a cheery “good luck!” before sitting a little taller in the middle of my park throne.