I don't like bumper stickers, and only have a small OSU Beaver on my car (of course), but I saw this one and it made me smile:
If there are no dogs in Heaven, I'm not going.
Maybe I am too into my dog, but I like to think he is going to live as long as me and then follow me where ever I go next. And I plan to get pretty damn old before I head out. Okay, I sound like the crazy lady who lives on the corner with seventeen cats, but oh well, I love Bailey. Most people who meet him love him too actually. As I may have said before, I have humanized him a bit too much, and he's let it get to his head over the years...he knows how to work people.
Anyway, back to bumper stickers. That gets me to thinking about the crazy people who decorate the back dash of their car with Beanie Babies and stuffed animals. What the hell are they thinking? What could possibly possess a person to stuff freaky little fuzzy dolls into various corners of their vehicles? What about their blindspots? Will the driver blame Clucky the Fuzzy Chicken for the fat pileup that they cause on I-5?
In high school, before my friends got their licenses, Robin's (and everyone's) dad Steve used to drive us to school everyday. We would always get stuck behind this older model Jeep Cherokee that was fully decked out inside and out with Garfield and Odie memorabilia. They even had the seat covers. We would always laugh and wonder what it would be like to be the passenger who had to sit next to the huge stuffed Garfield on the backseat. No surprise though, the person driving never had passengers. Hmm.
I'm thinking about digging out all my old Cabbage Patch Kids to load up in the back of my wagon. When people drive behind me, they're sure to feel all warm and cuddly inside because my chubby cheeked dolls will be creepily smiling back at them.
Hey, whatever I can do to spread a little sunshine people.
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I'm thinking about digging out all my old Cabbage Patch Kids to load up in the back of my wagon. When people drive behind me, they're sure to feel all warm and cuddly inside because my chubby cheeked dolls will be creepily smiling back at them.
Reminds me of when I was a freshman in high school, and headed off to Korea with mom and stepdad to visit our extended family.
Upon arriving in customs, the agent looks at me and mutters something to me in Korean. I tell him that I can't speak Korean. After a good long stare, some ominous head shaking and a gruff throat clearing, he tells me to open my bags in English.
When I opened my bags, he saw that I had three Cabbage Patch Dolls in my luggage. I can only imagine what he thought about non-Korean speaking Korean-Americans at that point.
(The dolls were gifts to my family.)
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