You see, on Valentine's day, a certain roommate of mine received this bear:
Which would have been really sweet I guess, if it wasn't from a certain individual whose advances have been rejected on multiple occasions. This made it considerably creepier, and so the bear sat, unclaimed and unloved on our kitchen table for a number of days until finally I adopted him and named him Kyle (though certain people insisted on calling him a far inferior name). Since then, Kyle has stayed in my fort and sometimes we snuggled at night. We were quite happy, until Sunday. I'm not actually entire sure why I did it. I was stressed, Roommate commented on how she found Kyle creepy, and somehow the suggestion of cutting off his head came to be. I don't think Roommate thought I was serious when I asked for scissors, and so she obliged.
Then this happened:
If you're ever feeling really stressed, I highly recommend decapitating a stuffed animal. There are few things so therapeutic as removing the head and ripping the stuffing from it (which, p.s., has a very strange yet satisfying texture) to throw at people. There's something exquisite in plunging scissors into the plushy interior and ignoring conventions about how one should interact with toys. On the other hand, I felt kind of like Sid from Toy Story. Then again, it was even more satisfying to remember this was a token of affection and thus take out my relationship-related rage.
Anyway, being the frugal person I am, I decided it simply wouldn't do to just destroy this perfectly good stuffed animal. So, I took my first foray into sewing in years (I have a habit of sewing things to my pants, you see) and stitched his neck right on up. Now I have a lovely headless bear is even better for snuggling with than before, as now I don't have his eyes poking me in the forehead all the time.
The best part? I have awesome new headgear now.
I plan to wear it everywhere.
