There was a great ‘Sex and the City’ episode in which Berger dumped Carrie by writing her a break up note on a post-it. I would never be so cruel as to break up with anybody on a post-it. I am going to break up with my duckie in a blog, in public, for a thousand people to read.
Hey there, my good friend Duckie, take this box of tissues. And here’s a stiff drink. If this were a ‘Sex and the City’ episode it would be a pink Cosmo filled to the brim. But knowing you, it will be a 12-year-old Macallan, neat. You’re more of a Samantha, anyway.
Listen, Duckie. Augie Doggie is my new best stuffed friend now. That’s just the way it goes. You smelled good. You were soft. You were a good friend. You never argued. You never complained when I threw you in the toilet. You took it like a duck. But now, it’s over.
You must have seen this coming. I don’t try to sneak you in my mama’s handbag any more for field trips. I don’t put my mouth on your head and try to suck your eyes out. I don’t clutch you close to my heaving body in the night. I have, I admit, completely ignored you these past few months. The only trip you’re going to make is to the floor when I throw you out of the crib in the morning.
Hey, don’t cry. You know who suffers the same fate? Blue puppy, Little Kitty and elephant. I throw them out of the crib every morning, too. They are the Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop of my stuffed animal Rat Pack. Sure, they were vitally important in their time. But now all anybody remembers is Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr. Nobody remembers that Humphrey Bogart was the original leader, and that Lauren Bacall coined the name Rat Pack. Duckie, you’re Joey Bishop now. So sorry.
I know it’s a tough gig being a transitional object. But you should have seen this coming when you were never given a proper name. Augie Doggie started out ahead. Stuffed friends with names like Duckie and Little Kitty, well, you don’t have much personal branding there, do you? You’re going to get mowed down in the relentless drive of a toddler’s love. As toddlers we are incredibly busy people. Have you noticed that as soon as I get up in the morning I am building towers, crashing them over, stomping on cereal, chasing the cat and screaming? My plate is full, my to-do list is, like, crazy, and I felt you weren’t keeping up. Also, Augie Doggie has a collar that I can wrap around my finger so he can come with me. You have no such handhold. Sorry, your anatomy was your downfall and you were often left behind.
Can we be friends always? I know I’ll think of you at holidays, and in quiet moments as I walk on the beach with Augie Doggie. Just don’t drunk-text me, okay? Send a card or something. And don’t use a post-it.