These inanimate objects are fluffy horrors. My baby daughter accumulated a bounty of them. She received them from the time she was born, until she was well into her teenage years. Stuffed animals accumulate along with germs, dust, mites, slobber, and other filth. Not only are they harmful to the health of children, but they are harmful to the health of the children's parents. I had to build toy chests to contain these raggedy, diseased monstrosities.
As more and more of them magically appeared in my home, they finally took over. I was a slave to them. There were a hundred of them gracing my daughter's bed. They lurked in closets, in the basement, in nooks and crannies, anywhere one could imagine.
I was attacked by one of them on a fine winter morning. It happened after I came down the stairs at 4:30 a.m. to fix my thermos of coffee for work. As my woolen-socked right foot met Mr. Teddy Bear, we both took a ride across my slick Pergo, kitchen floor. Teddy ended up against the wall, not feeling any pain. His dead button eyes stared at me. I on the other hand had smacked my lower back and buttocks hard, against the floor.
I stayed there for a moment to collect myself. The scotch I drank the evening before was rumbling in my stomach. My wife screamed at me from upstairs, "What the hell are you doing down there? You're going to wake up the dead!" I didn't answer her, because I felt too much rage rising up inside of me. I limped around for a while, and made my coffee. I threw some lousy sandwiches together for my "wonderful" winter's day on a CAT bulldozer in sub-freezing weather.
Today, my sweet daugher is all grown up, and living with her wonderful husband. I'm sitting in my clean den. Everything in here is pristine. It is beautiful, just the way I envisioned it to be for my retirement. But you know what? I'd trade just about anything to see my little girl on the floor again, playing with her stuffed animals. Maybe when I go Christmas shopping tomorrow, I'll buy her one, just for old times sake.