Stuffed Toys

I feel very pressed today to write about the terrifying and vastly profitable idea of stuffed toys. I blame it on Steve.

                Steve is a highly unmotivated stuffed baboon who has spent the majority of his weekend on my bedroom floor. He originally lived in the Sunday school modular by my school, which we tore apart last  October to make room for a game of Extreme Dodge Ball, which involved fog and a strobe light. I met Steve as we shoved everything into the closet, and he ended up coming home with me.

                So there he lies, right where I dumped him when I emptied my backpack, looking broken and forlorn among all the odds and ends that found their way there over the course of the week. I haven’t touched him until now, because I was afraid I’d provoke him and Mama Steve would come find me.

                So as I sat on my bed, observing his unmotivatedness, I began to ponder this whole ‘stuffed animal’ thing. Why do little children need to have large-eyed, fuzzy, deformed creatures sitting around them? I just imagine how long Steve’s been at that Sunday school, gradually absorbing all the cracker crumbs and odors of preschool over time. And now he’s in my ROOM. He’s out there in the dark right now, somewhere in this room. I can feel his scratched black eyes boring a hole into my soul.

I am reminded of my friends’ parents, who saved every one of their stuffed animals and actually GAVE them to their children. And I am also reminded of how many places those stuffed animals must have been. And were they ever washed? Noooo!

                Do our children really deserve to be forced into this realm of madness?! I mean, it’s not like they’re bent on destroying humanity or spreading a deadly virus, but OHMIGODSTOPSTOPSTO

--Sabrina