It was a cold winter’s night in Texas, and she was fast asleep in her king-sized bed when the thief struck.  He was silent, and she did not wake, even as he deprived her of what she needed most.  However, she did not sleep for long.

Eventually, a small recognition that something was wrong reached her brain.  After a period of time (seconds? minutes? hours?), she woke.  Even in her sleep-drugged condition, she realized that she had been robbed, and she shivered.

Fortunately, not much had been taken, and it could easily be replaced.  That’s not what bothered her.  She recognized that once you are robbed by a thief, there is a likelihood that the thief will rob you again and again.  She had become a victim.

She was no demure Southern belle.  During the course of her thirty-some years, she had learned how to defend herself in various ways.  She knew how to use a knife, as well as a pistol.  However, those skills wouldn’t help her in this situation — after all, she had slept through everything.  As she thought about how to prevent a recurrence of the night’s events, she realized that she was powerless to prevent the thief from striking again.  She would have to tell her husband, and that thought irked her.  She liked to take care of things on her own.

She would see her husband in the morning.  How would he react when she told him what happened?  He could become defensive, possibly feeling shame.  Throughout history, it has been the man’s job to protect his woman and his cave.  He could become angry, but would his anger be directed at her?  It didn’t matter, she decided.  She would tell him during breakfast.  When she saw her husband the next morning, she kissed him and then made him his favorite morning meal to help put him in a good mood.  There was little talk while they ate.  He did not realize that anything was wrong, and she spoke only of inconsequential matters.  Then, as they were both reading the morning paper, she saw her opportunity.

"Honey," she said quietly, "did you know that you’re a blanket thief?"