The Mc came to me with a stern look on his face.

“Promise you won’t be mad” he said. That’s never a good start.

“Promise no matter what I tell you, you’re not going to get upset and take it out on anyone.”

I stared at him.

“Grayson was on my chair?”

A chair I’m entirely too protective of in part because the fabric is something that resembles chenille and thought of the combo of chenille and cat claws upsets me. Still, he gets on the chair when we’re asleep, I know he does because the pillows or moved or dented. I’ve accepted it.

He shakes his head.

“What?”

“Your giraffe. His ear is broken.”

I sigh.

Jerry - the giraffe - was purchased in Jamaica for $60. He’s about 4′ tall and was carved out of a single piece of wood. My friend Sarah who lives in Colorado but is currently deployed in Iraq (again) helped me with the price negotiation using skills she learned over seas. He holds special meaning.

“It’s just a piece of wood, we can have him repaired.”

On the way home from that trip, I tried to carry him on. Someone else had a guitar and he was really about the same size, so Jerry should be G2G I figured. They made me check him at the last minute and his leg was broken when I got him home and unwrapped him, which resulted in a visit to a furniture repair store (he’s wood!) and an expenditure of nearly double what he cost originally. We can rebuild him, make him faster, stronger…

“You’re taking this too well.” he says and starts backing away from me.

Last night I took pictures of the crime scene, the suspect and the witness. I also took pictures of The Mc and the interrogation, but they weren’t too flattering so I’ll leave them unpublished.

So yeah, it’s just stuff. It’s stuff I love and it’s stuff with emotional value, but it’s just stuff. Grayson? He’s a cuddle buggy vomit eating back scratching 4 am meowing face kneading mask and goatee wearing clumsy crazy little love machine.

I can forgive him.