The last taboo

Sit with me on a bench, look me straight in the eyes and I will gladly tell you what I earn, what strange leaps I have made in the name of love and fashion, and how crazy I act when I step on a scale. I can laugh very hard about it and ultimately I am not ashamed of it. There is one thing that has been making me blush for four days now and no, it’s not one of Heleen van Royen's sex toys that I finally ordered as well, although it does involve a power outlet.

Alright, let's get to the point. I have an electric blanket.

There. That’s out.

Done with the cold and in need of something to relax myself. I can’t even have wine and chocolate anymore (even a café latte has been brutally wiped off the menu) and so I sought my salvation in other pleasures. That became the electric blanket.

Very quickly and secretly I tucked it under the bottom sheet, because my dear one is not such a fan of ‘nouveautés‘ and has expressed different ideas about how to get warm between the sheets. On both sides, I found a remote control: hefty ones. It looked intensely elderly, but very convenient. Without wearing lenses, I’ll just say. It has three settings and after 180 minutes it turns off automatically, so you don’t wake up like a overcooked Opperdoes.

Since I can hardly keep anything to myself, I mentioned my latest purchase left and right. Waiting for Homeric laughter, I found support. From my gym teacher, our nanny, our own Kiki (who bought it exactly at the same time as me and experienced the same storytelling embarrassment) and so on.

I tell you: the electric blanket is the new yoga mat. It’s only a matter of time before Hermès brings out their version, I swear.