Of Pink Flamingos and Women (Sorry Steinbeck)

When we went to Arkansas, I bought a 12″ plush flamingo for a good friend who collects flamingos.   On a recent motorcycle trip, this flamingo (named Dora) was lost, causing this friend some distress.  Yesterday, after consultation with mutual friends, it was decided to resurrect Dora in the manner that any parent with a small child and a love object/small pet would use.  Yes, the decoy.  I got on Amazon and located a new Dora quickly, and after chrging just shy of $20 to my debit card, Dora Dos (or DD) has arrived.  

Now, to comically reunite Dora and her human companion.  

Wish people were as easy to stop missing as plush flamingos.  

Prior to widowhood, I never would have been so sentimentally dumb over a plush toy for an adult, even for a child I’d have had doubts over the merit of replacing a loved toy vs. teaching them to “cope” with losing it.   Now, avoiding loss, even of something so trivial feels like a good idea.  Is it possible I’m aging backwards?  

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