It doesn’t help that I have an irritating anthropomorphic attitude toward inanimate objects, worried that they will “be sad” to be abandoned and alone in the world
He looked vaguely about his seat in the double stroller, and shrugged sheepishly.
“No, no, no, no, no…” I groaned. I wearily swung the carriage about, shelving our visit to the park.
This blanket wasn’t just any blanket. It was a personalized gift from a family friend, soft and warm and perfect for outdoor excursions. I should have known better when I’d earnestly tucked it around him, that it wasn’t that cold and he wouldn’t be that concerned for its welfare.
I spend many of my Sundays thus, dragging the babies about in the fresh air and taking care of errands. I had already returned books to the library and stopped at the supermarket. Now I frantically retraced my steps, desperate to locate the vanished blankie.
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