Toby bear;
Babybear;
Bear bear;
Poochie wookums;
Cutie boo bear;
Naniingbear..
.. You get the picture.
He has his own special place on the bed between S and me, and somehow or rather, always manages to crawl his way between us into my arms at night.
Toby was a gift from an old boyfriend while I was a lonesome student in Melbourne, craving the warmth of cuddles and memories long gone. He turned up unexpectedly at my doorstep one day, a ginormous adooorable furball, the colour of oatmeal with eyes as beady and luminous as saucepans and a big sunny smile that says “Love me, I’m yours!”
He has fat generous arms that reach out for endless hugs and the softest tummy for snuggles.
His black nose has taken on the shape of my kisses over the years, and till today, I still sniff his nose like a hit of coke.
His roly poly plush, once fluffy has been worn away from years of fierce cuddles and wanton hugs. Today, he sits around like a limp beanbag. I’m taking him to a bear station in 1-Utama for restuffing when I have the time.
I’m 30 this year with Toby permanently fixed in the crook of my arms. Yeah, so I have issues but Toby helps me get through life’s little bumps :-) For his faithful presence and ceaseless dedication, he wins hands-down for the “Most Loved Bear” award! I’d make S fetch him from a sinking ship or inside a burning building!
Oh BTW Toby’s only been washed twice.. We don’t want him disintegrating in the washing machine now, do we!
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