Okay, I promised you stories…
I have a goddaughter, who is absolutely adorable. And she has a teddy bear, called Teddy Bear (okay, not really, that’s the translated version. But anyways.) While I speak on the phone with my goddaughter several times a week, the person on the other end is most often actually Teddy. What she says, Teddy says. What she does, Teddy does. What she breaks, Teddy gets the blame. You get the picture. So for all story purposes, ‘Teddy’ means them both, really.
The thing about Teddy is that he’s almost alive. He has a very distinct personality and strong opinions. He hates chicks. As in baby chickens. They’re so yellow and fluffy. He doesn’t like them one bit. He has a lot of clothes, and he’s always coming up with more things he absolutely needs. For example a reflector vest. You know, the type you see on road workers, so they can be seen in the dark? He needs one of those. Because “now someone can drive over him”.
When the family moved, I made him a moving box. It’s a box covered in teddy-patterned gift paper, with cut-out letters on the side spelling “Teddy’s Moving Box”. But because he has so much stuff, he needed a fairly big box. A box so big he can’t possibly carry it himself (he’s only 33cm tall, after all). So I put wheels under it. And a rope so he can pull it behind him.
Teddy has a favourite number: 3. No matter what the question, if a numerical number is needed, it’s 3. Also, if your seat on the plane is on row 3, you are expected to inform him immediately.
Now, why I’m telling you this, is that I have a project. For a while now Teddy and I have sent each other Power Point presentations. Instead of post cards, you see. Teddy loves clicking the space bar to see the next slide and/or the next animated picture on the PP presentation. And now I need to send him an Easter PP. But no chicks. He hates chicks.
