Bunker in the Blanket

I decided my outdoor campaign had reached its limit the second the porch shadows started stretching out like spooky fingers, so I beat a very dignified retreat back indoors. My destination was the living room armchair, where a giant oatmeal waffle-knit blanket was folded like a fluffy accordion. Scaling the cushion with flat webbed feet was practically high-altitude mountaineering, but I managed to wedge my bill between two heavy folds and pry open a cozy little tunnel. Now I'm tucked chin-deep inside the woolly layers, completely shielded from whatever creeps around in the dark. It turns out a well-constructed blanket fort solves about ninety percent of life's immediate terrors.