Near the Wyoming/Colorado state border yesterday, I saw a little stuffed monkey hanging on a reflector post along I-25. You know the kind of monkey – the ones with the wrap-around arms. So cute – it gave me a chuckle. I wish we could have stopped to take a picture, but it was in the middle of construction where traffic was down to one lane each way. Maybe someone put it there to help with potential road rage since one-lane construction traffic on an interstate is really annoying, especially when you are in a hurry.
While I was laughing though, I also felt a twinge of weird sorrow for the poor little monkey. All by himself in the middle of nowhere, out in the weather. When I was growing up, I always felt like my stuffed animals were alive and had feelings. I never much played with dolls but I had tons of stuffed animals that I loved. I always tried not to show favoritism to the animals, cause I felt like it would hurt the others’ feelings. Silly, I know. But what is even sillier is those thoughts still kinda run through my mind today. As recent as last year, I was at my parents’ house and was picking out some of my old stuffed animals to bring home with me. I felt really guilty and bad for the ones that I didn’t pick, as if I was hurting their feelings by leaving them behind. It was really hard putting the ones I did not choose back into their storage bins. And I feel a sense of sadness whenever I see a stuffed animal in a thrift store or at a garage sale. They always look so dejected. I don’t think I could ever give mine away like that. It would feel as if I was giving away a family member. Well, probably not that bad, but I still don’t think I could do it.
Okay, you can stop making fun of me now.