My Soft Toy Is A CHEATER!
"The Surprisingly Heartwarming Truth I Discovered About My Beloved Teddy Bear"
Let me start by saying I never expected betrayal to come from the soft, squishy face of my childhood companion. Yet here I am, at 26 years old, realizing the plush love of my life — Mr. Bumble, my teddy bear — is a cheater. Not in the usual romantic sense, of course. But in the way that only a loyal, stuffed sidekick can completely betray you when you least expect it.
Mr. Bumble has been with me since I was four. He has one eye slightly bigger than the other, a perpetually smug little smirk stitched onto his face, and a small tear on his left ear from that time I thought he could fly. (Spoiler alert: he can’t.) For years, he sat by me during nightmares, survived tea parties with imaginary friends, and listened silently while I rehearsed life’s most dramatic monologues — from “I hate broccoli” to “He hasn’t texted back in two hours — am I being ghosted?”
I trusted him. I believed in him. Until one day, I made a discovery that rocked my plushy world.
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The Day of the Betrayal
It started like any other day- a very rare day when one actually cleaned an apartment-as I had perfected the art of dramatically flinging laundry onto multiple surfaces and pretending I would get round to folding it maybe one day. I was going through a few boxes from my childhood home with boredom when I encountered this weather-beaten shoebox filled with some pictures.
As I flipped through them, an oddity was starting to set in. For one thing, there appeared to be a Mr. Bumble in the picture with my sister, again in one with my cousin, finally to an unknown torture of having him pose with my high-school best friend-while that really hurt, every photograph pictured him less being held by me than nestling safely in the arms of someone else.
Since when had he been all over the place? I was his only human.
I felt as if I were in a toy-oriented soap opera. How many had he consoled? How many secrets had he kept? Did he even mean it when he silently endured the public torture of my sixth-grade heartache?
I confronted my mother.
"Oh, you didn't know?" she said, considering the other fact with such nonchalant authority. "You used to lend him to your friends when they were sad. You insisted he was magic. Remember?"
No, I did not remember. Or I may have blocked it out, holding wholeheartedly onto the belief that Mr. Bumble was truly all mine. That probably said a lot about how violent it truly was to share him, as an adult with feelings, I was now paying for my childhood generosity.
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Trial of Mr. Bumble
Mr. Bumble sat upon the edge of my bookshelf, this smug smile perpetually concealed on his face as he stared down at me. Somehow, that charge felt different. It felt derisive. As though he was saying,"Well, kid, you weren't the only one."
I held the mock trial.
"Mr. Bumble," I said, pointing a very serious finger at his lopsided head, "you stand accused of emotional betrayal, unauthorized cuddling, and excessive cuteness used to manipulate multiple humans. How do you plead?"
He said nothing, as usual. The silent type.
"Guilty," I declared. "By reason of irresistible plushness."
He said nothing. That sly look-nothing bothered him.
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Soft Toys Soft Lessons
That moment, I thought, reminded me of something deeper. That teddy bear, with all his outside-of-my-awareness adventures, symbolized more than childhood loyalty. He was connection. Healing. Comfort. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who needed him-and somehow my four-year-old self understood it better than I do today.
Giving Mr. Bumble away wasn't a real way to say that I didn't love him. Quite the opposite, in fact-I loved him so much that I wanted others to feel that kind of peace he gave me. Whether it was my cousin having a hard time moving or a friend going through a divorce of her own parents, Bumble was there.
Normally, I would say he was a man who cheated on me. Well, the way I see it, he was a really nice man who just had to go and share a little bit of comradeship wherever it was needed.
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Forgiveness and Fluff
Later that night, I returned Mr. Bumble to his spot beside my bed. Yes, I still sleep with him. Judge away. He's been around longer than most of the people I know—and a lot more loyal than some of the men I've dated.
I gave his little ear a squeeze and said in a whisper, "I forgive you."
He didn't say anything. But somehow I knew he did.
Our greatest teachers sometimes are not our mentors or our friends. They are those quiet companions that see us through tough times. Mr. Bumble-the "cheater"-reminded me that love shared is love multiplied.
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Final Thoughts
Maybe the biggest betrayal wasn't that Mr. Bumble cuddled with others — maybe it was that I forgot what it meant to give comfort freely. I decided somewhere along the way not to believe in that fairy tale any longer.
When I look at him now, I remember.
So do yourself a favor... if a soft toy happens to lie somewhere about, give it an extra squeeze tonight. And if it happens to be captured in some old photo with someone else, don't be too quick to dub it 'the cheater.'
They could simply be jobbing it — providing comfort, one cuddle at a time.
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