BB is on a quest to quantify my love for her. How much is it? And how does it compare to other people and things I love? The fine and not so fine print being: ‘please tell me you love me more than my sister.’
“How much do you love me?”
“Do you love Dad more than me?”
“Do you love me more than RB?”
“No. I love you both so much I could burst. I would die for you.”
“Would you die for Dad?”
I don’t want to say that there couldn’t be some situation that would make me reconsider. But in the depths of my soul I know I would do anything for BB and RB and as much as I love Captain, there appear to be some conditions.
“Do you love me the most?”
“I don’t love anyone more.”
“Do you love Blankety more?”
“I do not love Blankety more.” It gives me anxiety to think about sleeping without my 40-year-old blanket, but I can do hard things.
BB contemplates her security bunny. Bunzy is a bunny head with arms, and with what BB calls “blanket feet.”
These animal heads on small blankets have taken over the lovey market and they’re a little creepy if you give them too much thought. They’re a bunch of bodiless animal heads.
Thanks to having arms, Bunzy is able to wear an assortment of doll clothes, so sometimes it’s possible to forget she has no torso or whatever bunny bodies are called.
BB buries her face in Bunzy and tells me,
“No offense, but I love Bunzy more than I love you.”
“That’s ok.” I can only aspire to be 75% blanket and a dull, mottled gray color from never being washed.