As the young thug that I was, I was almost constantly drowning in a mass of about 2 billion stuffed animals. As you remember, each of those jewels had their own name, personality, background, and life story. They took turns accompanying me when we had to venture out into the real world. When we returned home, I would go about my usual self-entertainment of lining them up, single-file, in a parade that stretched from my room, through the kitchen, around the couch, and ending somewhere on the stairs leading down to the den. Whenever there was a tornado warning, I secured those suckers in trash bags for easy-grabbing in case we had to take shelter underneath the stairs.
Essentially, these beanie babies were my bros…that is, until you informed me that growing inside each and every one was a sack of SPIDER BABIES, waiting to hatch, burst, or whatever the hell it is that they do. You told me they come “spewing out from between the seams ANY day now”.
This haunted me for weeks. Deathly afraid of the inevitable hatch-and-attack of the Charlotte’s offspring, but unwilling to do away with my beloveds, I decided to stash them in one corner of the room and sleep with one eye open. I, now, know that this was just a real jerk move. Either that or some kind of subconscious indication to the evil spider babies that were living inside you, threatening to burst out onto your exterior. I almost think it may have been the latter which makes sense, considering the fact that up until a couple of years ago, I recognized your existence as the poison of my life.
Yes, we’ve since renewed and repaired that relationship for which I am very grateful, but the spider babies still haunt me. It makes me wonder what else I have swept under the rug or into the corners of my mind where the spider babies can fester, waiting to drag me down to rot forever in Spider Baby Hell.
Thanks a lot.