Here’s a little something you might not know about me—there’s? a? 5 foot tall Buzz Lightyear pinata in my closet.? You see, one day, I was getting ready to hang up some clothes for the first time since my son was born (he’s the four-year old, by the way).? I walked (waded would actually be the more correct term here) into my closet, looked to the right, and presto!? There he was, the Toy Story hero in the flesh, er, plaster of paris.
Now, I grant you, my closet is a tad messy.? Yes, wiseass, that is an understatement.? So, if a sock puppet, a small rodent, or possibly even JFK had been found in there, I wouldn’t have been too surprised.? But a 5 foot tall Buzz Lightyear pinata?? That’s pushing the boundaries of randomness, even for me.
My assumption is when most folks pass a dude in a muscle t hawking Buzz Lightyear pinatas on the side of the road, they just drive on by.? And I think this assumption is correct—unless you’re my husband.? Apparently, he just had to have it—because you never know when a 5 foot tall Buzz Lightyear pinata might come in handy.?
Good ole? Mr. Lightyear? has? taken up permanent residence inside my closet.? ? Poor fellow is? now sans a hand–my son performed emergency surgery with a hanger, but alas, it couldn’t be saved.? ?
Come on Buzz,? my closet’s not? that scary.? Is it?
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