So, I decided this post is going to be about my stuffed animal Squish, who was formerly the apple of my eye. I say “Formerly”, because we all grow up one day, and anyone who’s still that into their toys, is probably a huge ass weirdo. I’m sure we all had one though, a toy that never lost its luster, one that was above all the rest. Just except that Squish is better than all of your wildest dreams, and it’s I who was lucky enough to be the owner.
Something I should get out of the way right here and now, is the fact that Squish is a hermaphrodite. Her gender depends on my whims. She’s mostly female, but he can be a guy sometimes, if I wish it to be so. I mean, she doesn’t have genitalia due to her stuffed-animalness, and I would always mix up her gender pronouns anyways, so I decided he was both interchangeably.
Now that’s off my chest, we can talk about the real important stuff. Like how she’s filled with thousands of beads, each one containing a shred of awesomeness. The beads make him super doughy, and squishy. Hence his name. Clever, am I right? No? Well, f*ck you I was a little kid.
Another important thing to note about my dearest Squish, is her versatility. I’ve used her countless times as a pillow, allowing my wet slobbery DNA-infused drool to absorb into him, effectively making myself part of her forever. She is also an amazing table. I’d wedge her perfectly on my lap, and eat myriad amounts of different foods off of his back. Didn’t matter if it was Beef Wellington with a side of mashed potatoes, or if it was a simple bowl of cereal, I was always eating it off her fuzzy backside. All these things is what makes him so amazing.
Nowadays, my love for Squish has dwindled. As a kid, she had to be in my arms in order for me to sleep, she went with me on all sleepovers, and absorbed my tears whenever I was a sad little boy. I guess part of the aging process is becoming a cold heartless shell, and abandoning the things that once gave you so much joy.
I mean, I still use her to this day, and I make sure she always sleeps on the bed, because I’m a nice guy. But, the weird love that I had for her is gone, the love that made me need her in order to sleep, and all those things. I think it’s because, when you’re a child, you can tend to personify things, and as I got older, I began to perceive her less as a person, and more of an object.
He’s still loved. It’s just a different kind of love now. I love her now because she’s an awesome prop for my bong, whenever I’m blazing in bed. She’s got a few ash stains here and there, but she still looks good as ever. Obviously, I’m going to pass her on to my babies one of these days, so she’ll regain that childlike love of which she was accustomed, but for right now her life is reeking of dank weed, and making sure Daddy can properly rip his bong from the comfort of his bed.
