Oberon Abroad

Oberon is my favorite bunny. He was an Easter present my mom my freshman year of college, and is less than a foot tall, and lavender. For most of my life, I believed devotion to a particular stuffed animal was for little kids, which I was not (this did not stop me from hoarding stuffies; I just had to love them all equally). I had realized that none of the grownups I knew carried around stuffies, and so set myself the goal of doing the same.

Other indicators of adulthood were: always eating my vegetables, not having nightmares, being scared of the dark, or kicking my brother. The privileges of adulthood were quite clear because the grownups I knew stayed up late, read all kinds of books and didn’t have to fight bigger kids for time on the tire-swing–little did I know about grant proposals and scholarship competitions.

My vision of adulthood has matured a little: I have learned that I get to decide how I see my insides and, most of the time, define what I means for me to be grownup. My younger self would not buy this: she would note that I refuse to eat asparagus, keep a flashlight under my bed, and carried Oberon more than 8000 miles  in my carry-on to Doha, Qatar. She would doubt my commitment to grownup-hood. But she would love Oberon:

Inspirational Quote:

xkcd alt-text: "I've looked into this, and I can't figure out a way to do it cheaply. And I guess it wouldn't be sanitary."

btw, several someones have now done this. There’s a calculator.

1 Comment

  1. Yeah, I agree. Most of the time I prefer kids – they still like to play! But I just got sent a lot of photos of the teenagers in the Dohoe islands of Denmark who prove they are now men by butchering the famous and intelligent Calderon dolphins till the sea turns red! The dolphins unfortunately like to play with people. (Yes, I did check it out with Snopes.) Too many of the “coming of age” rites we humans make up seem to turn back to barbarism.

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