So the bear. He's bound to be about a decade old by now. At least I assume it's a he. As there are no sex organs I can't tell for certain, but we'll just say this bear is male neuter, just like Mutt. The bear, let's give him a blog alias...Monsieur Cora Pearl (yes it's a girl's name, get over it), was originally a Christmas gift from my younger brother about a decade ago. He's a tan, old-timey looking bear with a triangle chocolate nose and tiny, black beady eyes that have a story to tell.
Monsieur Cora Pearl's Story:
I knew from the words that boy spoke when he brought me home from the freak show of a strip mall in that tiny town (which smelled like a nearby mining and smelting company...very ritzy) that this was the start of my journey to better places. I sat wrapped tightly in festive paper that adorned me like a straight jacket. I was hidden away for so long I thought that maybe I didn't act as a good teddy bear should and my punishment was this solitary confinement. I started going crazy. I came up with a multitude of plans for escape, but as I am not a character in Toy Story, I lacked the ability to physically come alive. Wait. I shouldn’t know what Toy Story is. How does that work. Never you mind. I was left to stew in my mental hell wishing all the while for somebody to bestow their love on me.
K’s Story:
Following my move to Vancouver, I had the Book Ends (They be twins, my younger sisters) over for a sleepover after I was all settled. We were catching up, having some girl time. I was sitting on the living room floor, as I sometimes do, while they perched on the couch and we talked about boys, parents, I gave them the ten-second-tour (that's literal – bedroom, bathroom, Monsieur Cora Pearl there on the floor please don't touch him, kitchen, and dining/living room. Done.) feel free to do what you like, mi casa es your place too. The only rule is: don't touch Mutt's things. I should make a special note here that even Boyfriend and I DO NOT touch Mutt's things. He's very...well, he's kind of a canine hoarder. As I spin in my chair I can tell you that right now he has collected all of his stuff right beside the cat's post, a mountain of uneaten treats, his stuffed alien dog, his neck pillow (Which he pilfered. Yes, pilfered. It wasn't his. Dirty little thief.) and of course, Monsieur Cora Pearl. Oh Law (that's a combination of Kathryn Stockett and the margarita I'm sipping, not me), when you touch Mutt's things he has a tendency to somewhat freak out. Rule of the house: Leave Mutt's things alone. Do whatever else you damn well please unless it pisses off the She-Hulk. She'll let you know when you cross the line, but that's generally after you cross it so she can smash you.
Monsieur Cora Pearl’s Story:
That girl saved me from suffocating. She freed me from that trap I was wrapped inside of while a song called Christmas in Jail, played in the background. It was all too appropriate. We stayed at that house for awhile, though it turns out the girl didn’t live there. We went on a long bus ride to a different house. We lived there for awhile. Some days after she woke up she would make her bed and carefully position me on it, with my back resting against the pillows. I think she put me there so I could keep a lookout; I was always facing the door to intimidate any and all intruders. Most days though, the girl didn’t want to wake me. She left me face down on the floor with the blankets strewn about on the carpet for warmth. She was always considerate like that. There were other teddy bears for awhile, but as the years drifted by and the girl started to catch the crazy, those bears slowly disappeared until I was the only one.
K’s Story:
The Book Ends asked why I gave the warning about Mutt’s things. I’m not a liar when I’m speaking...with the exception of that time I told Muse and Hubby Cupcake that Boyfriend was Mister North Shore 1996. He got a sash and a key to the city if you were wondering.
Monsieur Cora Pearl’s Story:
We’ve been moving around a bit over the last little while. I was misplaced in a moving box for far too long. I thought she forgot about me. I’m feeling more and more unloved. Especially when I was finally removed from the box and saw an alive stuffed cat. She’s kind of a fat bitch.
K’s Story:
After I tell the Book Ends why they should NEVER touch Monsieur Cora Pearl or Mutt’s other things, the sisters get the giggles in unison. I laugh too, because, really? Really? Boyfriend arrives, lets himself through the door and greets us. Hey Boyfriend, welcome to the estrogen-fest. Pull up a chair. Or you could...what are you doing Boyfriend?
Monsieur Cora Pearl’s Story:
We’re at a different house now. We live with a dear old woman that seems to be a future version of the girl. I like her. She makes pancakes. The girl brought home a little monster of a thing, she called it a dog, but I’ve seen enough television to know she’s a liar. I think it’s a rodent. I’m pretty sure, no, I’m eight thousand percent certain. Within the rodent’s first few months, he’s rooted into cupboards and staked claim on a forest green neck pillow. Didn’t even ask if I wanted it, and yeah, I did. By now the girl doesn’t even notice me. She put me in the spare bedroom and forgets all about me. Only living things I see are that spherical cat and monster “dog”. They come in and keep me company once in awhile, but never stay long. That is, they don’t stay long until one day the “dog” comes in looking all different. He’s got a lampshade over his head and he’s acting all ashamed. Says he doesn’t know who he is anymore. Feels like less of a man. Says he likes my company.
K’s Story:
Boyfriend is new to our everyday life together as I mentioned earlier. I don’t know what Boyfriend is thinking when he steps toward Monsieur Cora Pearl and picks her up. He shoots me a mischievous smile. Did I forget to tell Boyfriend the only rule of the house?????
Monsieur Cora Pearl’s Story:
The “dog” and I become best friends. Better than best friends, I think he loves me. I mean, he says he does, but I have to admit that sometimes I doubt his sincerity. It’s nice to be loved, but it does make me feel a little used sometimes. At least it’s attention; the girl just looks at me with disgust now, careful to stay away from me. Like I have some disease. This, this is what my life has become.
K’s Story:
Boyfriend pulls Monsieur Cora Pearl away, in a back swing that makes me wonder if Boyfriend plays tennis. The Book Ends and I stare, frozen, all knowing what’s going to happen with Boyfriend’s swift follow-through. They just heard the story and I think they’re rooting for Boyfriend on this one. As if in slow motion, three sets of eyeballs watch Monsieur Cora Pearl come closer. Boyfriend smiles, delighted that I haven’t made a move to stop it from happening. Monsieur Cora Pearl collides with my face. A synchronized “Ohhhhhh” comes from the Book Ends, while I let out and agonized, AGHHHHHHHH! Monsieur Cora Pearl is Mutt’s hump bear. I’ve seen him go at Monsieur Cora Pearl as though he’s filming a porno. And Boyfriend connects the diseased stuffed animal with the side of my face. This is the absolute worst day of my life. Wait, let me think...yes. This is the worst. The She Hulk boils with anger.
Do you have any idea what that is?
A bear?
The bear that Mutt humps.
Ha ha. What?
Oh God. Disgusting. I’m dying. Give me that bear, I’m going to get you in the face with it.
No, that’s gross.
Obviously it’s gross. Forget the bear, I’m going to kill you Boyfriend. Today is the day you are going to die by my hand. It’s happening.
The She Hulk pounces, her mammoth claws rip into Boyfriend’s chest. One by one she snaps his rib bones as if they’re Thanksgiving wish bones. Every time the bones snap the She Hulk wishes Boyfriend didn’t do stupid, nasty things. She then takes the stake that she was saving as a precaution for the next coming of Dracula – stay on guard, it’s going to happen – and the She Hulk plunges the stake into Boyfriend’s rapidly palpitating heart. Boyfriend dies and the She Hulk tosses Monsieur Cora Pearl on top of him. She sets the apartment on fire as she leaves.
It’s a good thing Boyfriend has as many lives as a cat. I should really figure out how many are left. I don’t want to waste his last few willy nilly. Also, excuse me while I shoo Fat away from Monsieur Cora Pearl. She doesn’t need that nonsense.
Time for tea,
K
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