I had a tiny set back. I’m not supposed to buy anything I don’t need, but the other day I treated myself to a $5.00 spending spree at a secondhand shop, so the set back was bound to happen.
Right when I entered the store, there staring at me with the saddest eyes, was Wally. I picked up his deranged teardrop shape. He was marked at 25 cents. Poor guy. He looked so lonely. My friend who frequents the shop reported he’d been there forever. I looked over his lumpy body. He’s a seal. I love seals. Someone made him out of fleece printed with ranch hands and barbed wire on it. Interesting. I put him back down and rummaged through the store.
I tried on the most adorable shorts that will never fit me (too small), and tossed around the idea of buying a brand new pair of bright yellow patent leather clogs from Sweden. I found an old vanity case that I could use for…I don’t know yet, something, and a wooden drying rack for 50 cents. I decided to call it a day and was heading to the cash register when my friend, the devil’s helper herself, uttered, “Your gonna leave him here?” and she pointed over to the rancher seal. There he was, looking at me with his sad face. I picked him up. I couldn’t leave him. His shape fit perfectly in my arms. It would pain me knowing his orange eyes would be staring out at me as I left the store; another hopeful rancher seal owner, gone.
He had a note tied around his neck. He was made by someone in jail. It kind of wigged me out, just a little. I wondered what crime the incarcerated toy maker committed to be sentenced to time. I wondered if maybe the prisoner looked like the seal, inadvertently, the way artists usually end up painting self portraits and such. If so, the creator is depressed and bumpy with a large head and a mustache.
When I got home and pulled him out of the bag to show Bill, I was happy that he liked him too and welcomed him with open arms into our family. Wally will be getting a bath today, going in the washing machine with a dark load of laundry.
Last evening, I showed Wally to my future sister-in-law, Barb. I said, “Doesn’t he just look so sad? Like he’s never been loved before. He needs love.” Barb, who knows I’m trying to de-clutter, suggested I give Wally to her Boston Terrier, Spider. She said Spider would give Wally all the love he needs. Images of Spider playing “kill-a-rabbit” with Wally popped into my head and I was alarmed. I can’t do that, not with this face.