A Message for Cheesy
Cheesy,
Hello, my darling. As you may have guessed, it is me, Bear-Bear. Sadly, I am not contacting you with happy news. I would communicate with you privately, but for some reason you have not yet given me your email (you probably just forgot. It is okay, I forgive you).
Anyways, Cheesy, I Bear-Bear have devastating news to share with you. It hurts my heart just to think about it, but I must. I know that this information will come as a shock to you- it certainly came as a shock to me- but I assure you, it is true. No matter how unbelievable it may seem, you must believe me Bear-Bear.
Brace yourself, my Cheesy. Perhaps grab something to hold onto, or make sure you are sitting down.
Okay, here it comes.
I Bear-Bear am not your foo-tar.
I know how shocking this is. I know that you have probably passed out from surprise by now. I know that you may need a moment to collect yourself and stop crying profusely before continuing to read. And that's okay. Take that moment.
Now that you've had a sec to cease your horrified screaming, I figure you're starting to ask questions. For example, how can this be? The two of us are so closely linked, so similar, so fine-tuned to one another's emotions and ways of life that it seems impossibly we are not genetically related. There was nothing to hint at this, nothing to make us suspect we may not be related. How could we have known, Cheesy, how could we have known?
I am so sorry, Cheesy. I do not know who your biological foo-tar is, but I do know it is not me Bear-Bear.
My heart breaks with this intel. Finding out that we are not related was like a slap in the face, and it only hurts me Bear-Bear more to have to tell you. I know you could not have predicted this- really, who could have?- so please do not blame yourself for not realizing it.
But Cheesy, I would like you to know that even if we are not technically related, I still loaf you like a dot-her. I just feel such a deep connection to you Cheesy, and I would still like to stay in touch.
Thank you, Cheesy. Please bear with me in this time of great, unpredictable shock.
Love,
Me
Bear-Bear
Hello, my darling. As you may have guessed, it is me, Bear-Bear. Sadly, I am not contacting you with happy news. I would communicate with you privately, but for some reason you have not yet given me your email (you probably just forgot. It is okay, I forgive you).
Anyways, Cheesy, I Bear-Bear have devastating news to share with you. It hurts my heart just to think about it, but I must. I know that this information will come as a shock to you- it certainly came as a shock to me- but I assure you, it is true. No matter how unbelievable it may seem, you must believe me Bear-Bear.
Brace yourself, my Cheesy. Perhaps grab something to hold onto, or make sure you are sitting down.
Okay, here it comes.
I Bear-Bear am not your foo-tar.
I know how shocking this is. I know that you have probably passed out from surprise by now. I know that you may need a moment to collect yourself and stop crying profusely before continuing to read. And that's okay. Take that moment.
Now that you've had a sec to cease your horrified screaming, I figure you're starting to ask questions. For example, how can this be? The two of us are so closely linked, so similar, so fine-tuned to one another's emotions and ways of life that it seems impossibly we are not genetically related. There was nothing to hint at this, nothing to make us suspect we may not be related. How could we have known, Cheesy, how could we have known?
I am so sorry, Cheesy. I do not know who your biological foo-tar is, but I do know it is not me Bear-Bear.
My heart breaks with this intel. Finding out that we are not related was like a slap in the face, and it only hurts me Bear-Bear more to have to tell you. I know you could not have predicted this- really, who could have?- so please do not blame yourself for not realizing it.
But Cheesy, I would like you to know that even if we are not technically related, I still loaf you like a dot-her. I just feel such a deep connection to you Cheesy, and I would still like to stay in touch.
Thank you, Cheesy. Please bear with me in this time of great, unpredictable shock.
Love,
Me
Bear-Bear
Oh Foo-tar,
ReplyDeleteSince you are not a teenage stuffed-girl-toy-thing, you probably cannot understand just how MUCH meaning is behind this roll of my beautiful, beady eyes. When you hear the sound of my exasperated gasp, you think I am simply taking a breath. And when I begin to type on my phone in an even more focused way, seemingly oblivious to everything around me, you probably assume that you are nowhere in my thoughts.
Would that it were so.
The truth, however, which you would know if you were a teenage stuffed-girl-toy-thing, is that when one of your parents does something totally foolish and embarrassing, you are always, ALWAYS aware of it. It never gets old, never becomes something that you are used to. Each humiliating moment burns like the first flame Prometheus brought down from mighty Olympus.
Usually, we teenage stuffed-girl-toy-things just pretend that we can't see what the parent is doing. We just can't handle it any other way, so we pretend it's not happening. But we know. We always know.
But with this, you have now blundered into something so foolish, so embarrassing, so humiliating, so socially-outcasting, so STUPID that I can't pretend to ignore it any longer. I have to actually look you squarely in the eyes and directly acknowledge and address your impropriety.
Foo-tar. You are my foo-tar. I know this. There is no doubt. Stop embarrassing yourself and come down off the roof.
How do I know this? Let's start by exploring why you think you are not my foo-tar. It is not directly said in your message, but I know why. You were talking to Hunkle Eye-Sack. And he told you how hoomans make babies, because he learned about that recently at school. First--why were you talking with an eleven year old hooman boy about this? So inappropriate. Second--why would you think that the way hoomans and stuffed toys make babies are the same? We are obviously not the same as the hoomans--duh. Maybe your fascination with La Nora addled your fluff-brain to the point where you can't tell that WE ARE DIFFERENT SPECIES?!?
But, knowing you, right now you're probably thinking "But how do you know? Maybe it is the same!" And I can tell you, definitively, that stuffed-toy-things make other stuffed-toy-things in a completely different way. How do I know this?
Because I, Cheesy, have reproduced.
Yes, that's right. I have my own little person out there in the world. And guess what? It's very sad, because in some ways we are similar. My little person has left me just like I left you. I have a very good idea where he is, though.
One night, Cracker and I were sitting on the log that we have down by the river where we live. He had a small tear on his back. I was concerned for him, so I reached over with my little paw and poked at it gently. There was a small hole in my paw. Some of my stuffing caught on some of his stuffing, and fell on the ground. When we came back the next morning, the tangled stuffing had turned into a cabbage. The next day, the cabbage had turned into your grandson. That's how stuffed-toy-things make new stuffed-toy-things. Not that other thing you heard about from Eye-Sack. (Again, why were you talking to him about that? Also--ew. So gross).
Speaking of your grandson, that's the other reason why I know that I'm your daughter. Because, you see, your grandson LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU. That's right. He left me, saying that he wanted to go find out if you were really as demented as I told him. If you really misunderstood what people tried to tell you as completely as I had explained to him. He didn't believe it could be true, and he said he had to see for himself.
He looks like a bear, so I named him after the first stuffed bears. He looks just like you (but younger). He left me to seek you out.
HAVE YOU FIGURED OUT WHO YOUR GRANDSON IS YET?
Probably not. Exasperated eye roll. Embarrassed huff. Sassy hair flip. Resuming focused texting.
Cheesy