I'm talking about this guy. The Rocky the Raccoon who has been with me almost my whole life. My stuffed raccoon that until a year and a half ago, I still slept with every night. The only reason this has changed is because I would be devastated if he got lost during my travels. And believe me, putting him in a suitcase in the attic and leaving him behind last year was tough. Yes. Sometimes I'm only 5 years old.
When I got home last week, he was the first thing that I pulled out of my suitcase. And he wasn't even mad. He was happy to see me, like always. Yes. He talks to me still, 30 years later.
My brother and sister, and obviously my parents, can tell you some hilarious and maybe borderline crazy Kelly and Rocky stories. Ask either of my siblings to tell you the story of when I thought I lost Rocky during a family vacation in New York City at the mature age of 17. You might not believe it.
Anyway. On Sunday I was packing all my things to replace them in the attic before traveling back to Buenos Aires. Once I finished everything, I went to take the sheets off my bed to wash them, and Rocky came tumbling out.
If you know me well, you know that EVERY time I go home, whether I've been gone for 2 days or 2 years, I cry like a baby when I leave. Actually, less like a baby, and more like a grown adult ugly crier, which is much worse. It usually starts about 24 hours before I have to leave.
You might imagine what happened when rocky fell on the floor. You might not.
I burst into hysterical tears, and ran downstairs half laughing, half crying to tell my brother and my dad about it. Then Michael said something like, "remember that one time in NYC when you turned into a crazy person in the hotel looking for Rocky? That was really mature of you." Cool, Kelly.
 |
| he even helps my dad feel better after knee-replacement surgery. cool walker, huh? |
No comments:
Post a Comment