Midnight for Fluffy

William M. Connolley's post, Holocaust of the fluffy toys brought back some slightly shameful memories for me.

I think the occasion was some sort of theatrical gala - raising money for a local theater. As I recall, we payed big bucks (for me) to get dinner and a chance to sit around with other theater fans. There was, however, some entertainment, a series of carnival type booths around the room. For a small fee, one could participate in various games of skill or chance, with fluffy animal toys as prizes.

One of these was target shooting with a Nerf bow and arrow. As it happens, relatively few people can hit the broadside of a barn from twelve feet with a Nerf bow and arrow. With two subteen sons, I wasn't quite innocent of the machine's dynamics, though, and quickly figured out that a steady hand and an aim about three feet South-South-West of the bullseye could get the job done. I expended a few tickets, collected a couple of fluffy animals, and that should have been the end of it.

I had bought a lot of tickets though, wasn't any good at the golf game, and the fortune teller didn't want to tell me anything that I wanted to hear. Meanwhile, at a nearby table some orthopod was collecting quite a mound of fluffy animals. Unable to resist, I found myself drawn into a kind of competition. If he could win two fluffies in one turn, well then I could win three. At the end of the evening I left with an indecent armful of fluff. Ditto the doc.

My kids liked a couple of them, and some other relatives or friends probably did too, but most of them filled a box for a year or so. I didn't take them to the dump though. I gave them to some sort of charity store or other. Maybe they got recycled at somebody else's gala.

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