I was in Costco while on my vacation, minding my own business eating my Costco Hot Dog (and maybe there were french fries, but you don’t want to hear about that. ) I was minding my own business, chatting away with the person sharing our table (it was lunch, they were short on tables, he had a motorcycle helmet so Mr. Spit invited him to sit).
I really was minding my own business.
It’s just that this cart went by, and this cart had the most amazing ginormous bear. It was one of the sorts of bears that you just see and you know they will be soft and squishy and snuggly, with exactly the right sort of cushyness and exactly the right amount of stuffing in precisely the right location, so that you can nestle in perfectly.
It was exactly that bear, and he was dark brown, and he looked like a nice, kind and sensible sort of bear. The kind of bear that would really listen to you and nod understandingly when you had a bad day and everything just went wrong and no one quite understood what it was to be you. He was the sort of bear that was going to be exactly what you needed on one of those terrible, no-good days when your family may love you, but they don’t like you very much. He was the sort of bear that was going to agree that the frog in the kitchen sink was a fine idea and taking the washing machine apart to make a go-cart showed ingenuity and mechanical aptitude.
I was minding my own business, but I have to tell you that sort of bear is very hard to find. I think I did the only sensible sort of thing faced with this opportunity.
I stopped minding my own business and I flagged down the person with the bear, and I asked her where she got him (the toy aisle. I don’t go to the toy aisle at Costco. I think I should start going more). I asked how much the bear was, but let’s all be honest here, unless you told me he was a bazillion dollars, I was going to hand over my money anyway, because that sort of bear is very hard to find, and you can’t waste time on price when you do find that sort of bear.
We took our groceries out to the car, and we went back in, and we went and found the bear, and then we found his sibling. The bears were $29.99 which really is reasonable for the sort of bear you were getting; what with exactly the right stuffing in precisely the right places. Given this, we bought a second bear, for Mr. Spit to take on the motorcycle toy run. She is a lighter brown, and she is clearly a girl bear and I have taken to calling her Mabel.
Anyway. The brown bear. The boy one, I called him Elliot and I got a box from my mother, and I put him in the box with some books and a few other things that I decided my nephew needed, and I mailed him off to my great-nephew.
It turns out that my great-nephew understands all of this in a bear. It turns out I am a pretty good judge of bear character.
Wee Ben agrees that Elliot is a good sort of bear who is apt to be understanding about precisely the sorts of things that mum’s and dad’s don’t quite get. (If it involves frogs, Aunty Spit’s don’t get it either).
Now, I grant you, Wee Ben will have to grow into the bear, maybe just a bit.