Bubbles doesn't sleep with anything soft or fuzzy to which he is particularly or consistently attached. Unlike his sister, who still sleeps with her beloved 'bway' (fleece homemade blankie that was a baby gift for her), Bubbles' demands for bedtime companions are spontaneous. He will occasionally insist that his stuffed dinosaur accompany him to bed, or a special book that he likes.
That is, until Plunger Guy was discovered.
Plunger Guy was given to us by the septic/ rooter guy who became way too familiar with our
personal shit waste material over the course of three visits in just two months. We live in the mountains, the system is ooooold. Let's leave it at that for now, shall we?
So on the third visit, Rooter Man was becoming friendly with Bubbles, who would enthusiastically go out to greet him based solely on the fact that he drove a large and noisy truck. Before he left, he handed Bubbles the funniest promotional gift-slash-'action figure'-slash-doll I have ever seen. And Bubbles fell in love with him.
Plunger Guy was quickly introduced to the cast of characters who would either become his best friends or his worst demise (dinosaurs are fickle that way, you know), and although at first he was attacked repeatedly by T-Rex and hippo, he ascended to alpha-toy at record speed.Plunger Guy must go everywhere with us, a tricky and disastrous situation, as peril of losing him lurks within each outing. Plunger Guy has to go in the tub, eat dinner, and now must also sleep with Bubbles.
Which wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that Plunger Guy is a little bit creepy. Besides the fact that he is holding a plunger and grinning smugly, he is winking.
What? Too blurry? Well, I told you it was hard to get him away from Bubbles. Okay, let me go yank it out of his hand for a second. Plug your ears.
See? The winking? Disturbing, yes?
For the record, when PG first joined our family, I tried to call him Toilet Guy. But my husband has a problem with
reality scatology and all things poop-related (such as, poop goes in there) and he first cringed and then, (when I didn't get the far too subtle message) he loudly protested about calling him Toilet Guy. So I sadly demoted the doll to Plunger Guy, rejecting Dh's (lame) suggestion of 'Rooter Man' (booooring).
I was describing both this argument and the doll to my curious and insightful brother, the one who thinks outside the box (you know who you are), and he (I suppose out of free-association more than anything else) suggested that I tell dh that we should call him 'Ass-r*pe Guy'. I said something like, "Ummm, no." But it was asstastically good for a laugh.
Especially the next morning, when the first *ping* I got in G-chat was asking me how Ass-r*pe Guy had slept that night.
(It was funny IRL.)
Also for the record, I do know how to spell 'Ass-r*pe' correctly. But I am not that much of a google whore.