Boo is the miniature Pomeranian with
the cropped puppy cut who currently earns about five billion dollars a year because
he is so astronomically cute.
His shrewd owners created a website and licensed
his sugary sweet face out to greedy toy execs to create the world’s most
adorable stuffed animal. And so, capitalization and corporatization led to the
creation of Margot’s first real love in life.
Boo is Romeo to Margot’s Juliet,
the Milli to her Vanilli, the Sonny to her Cher, the wind beneath her wings.
One day, Margot took only a passing interest in Boo and two days later, she was
sobbing into my neck while I hastily washed her hair. For you see, stuffed
Boos aren’t water-proof.
It’s interesting to see Margot undergo that sacred
right-of-passage when a young tot latches onto a toy or blanket. Ian and I had
assumed she’d attach to a blanket due to the individual blankie lust of our
youths.
Ian called his blankie “Wee” and carried a piece of Wee in his pocket
from kindergarten to fourth grade. Wee was finally abandoned in sixth grade or
so.
I, being an all-together more intelligent child, called my blankie “Blankie”
and hung on to it for far longer than sixth grade. How long? Well, Ian has not clue
where Wee is, but Blankie now resides in my sock drawer.
Because, what, am I
supposed to throw away my tattered rag? The horror.
Margot’s attachment to a
lovie is cute, but Ian and I also feel gripped with terror at the thought of
losing Boo, or Boo taking an impromptu trip into the toilet.
On Sunday, Ian
hopped on Amazon and ordered a second Boo to be rotated with first Boo.
Margot
won’t know that we’re rotating an heir and spare from week to week, but we
consider this to be as important a form of coverage as our health care plan or car
insurance.
So in conclusion, if you’re ever pondering what to get Margot for a
birthday or Christmas gift, SEND BOOS. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SEND BOOS.
