For my daughter's 15th birthday this year, she and four friends went to Build-a-Bear Workshop. A working theory of why she decided upon this seemingly regressive celebration is that it perhaps reminded her of simpler, more innocent times when she went to school in person, was mask-free, and lived in a country where the president was able to correctly use polysyllabic words.
Or perhaps she wanted her friends to express their personalities by choosing an animal and clothing that reflected their hobbies and sense of style.
Whatever the reason, the kids and their masks excitedly met at the local mall's store and decided upon the stuffed animals they wanted. Among the two boys and three girls in attendance, the choices included bunnies with Steelers and Capitals uniforms, a bear with a baseball uniform, and a bear with a fedora and sunglasses.
My daughter chose a monkey, dressed him in nothing but boxer briefs, and named him "Wilson" after an affectionate neighborhood cat we completely love. Wilson is inarguably adorable:
|See how cute Wilson and his|
And speaking of harkening back to a simpler time, it made me nostalgic to see her hugging Wilson all day after she brought him home, just like she'd done with her stuffed animals when she was much younger. She kept him close until evening, then went to bed with Wilson tucked under her arm.
All was good and teeth-achingly sweet until the next morning, when she woke up and found Wilson on the bed next to her like this:
|Um. This is not quite as cute, Wilson.|