A candid tale of 20-something humanness and extended note to self.

Saturday, 20 October 2012

Who fights the monsters under your bed?




Once upon a glorious evening many moons ago, whilst holidaying at my Auntie's house, I spotted a half wonky, exceedingly dusty monkey laying mournfully on top of a pile of boxes. I was three years old, and I was in love, so of course, in true Kathy B style, I screamed, cried, and wailed like an utter hooligan until the fine little monkey was mine. Result.

Eighteen years later, still dusty and wonky as ever, that fine little monkey and I often chill together in bed like it's 1994, and so I think it's about time I paid tribute to him. I am nominating him for the Warren Evans 'who fights the monster under your bed?' competition, and if he doesn't win, he'll be stuffed. Chuckle, chuckle.

There are a whole host of reasons why Monkey should win this competition (yup, I'm clearly a creative genius at naming soft toys). Firstly, he's a pink-nosed, red-lipped badman with stuffing billowing out of his oversized head, and added to this, I have vomited on him at least four times in my life and he has never emigrated or thrown himself in front of the hoover. If that's not an inspirational lesson in loyalty, I don't know what is.

Year upon year, Monkey has been chimply brilliant, fighting off angry beasts with his stumpy arms and terrifying ghosts with a stern raise of his non-existant eyebrows. Whilst I've spent night after night peacefully snoozing/snoring like an angry goat, dreaming about six-pack clad men, punctuation, and jolly unicorns, Monkey has laid squished somewhere between my right elbow and armpit, ready to unleash some furry fury. Serious monkey features and bananarism; he's a very prime mate indeed.

These days, Monkey and I tend to avoid the armpit/elbow situation. After all, he's an old, fragile boy, and I need more room for night-time activities, such as star-fishing the bed in my onesie, or quietly sobbing over the pile of biscuit crumbs that reside on the bed sheet next to me, where a fine man should lay.

He is however, and always will be, the pawfect night time guardian, and I shall love him until I'm as wonky and dusty as he is. He will forever remain at the foot of the bed, pink nosed and beady eyed, ready to go absolutely ape whenever the devil of the night demands it.

I bet you wish you had a monkey like mine. Sweet dreams, folks.








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8 comments

  1. Awww, such a fit monkey! Reading this post reminds me of a woolly duck I bought from a jumble sale for 50p in the early 90's. He was yellow with blue eyes and I named him, 'Mowwy'. He went through hell! Got thrown in Weetabix, got sat on by burglars and much more. Awww my Mowwy! He got so mangled, my mum had to bin him =(

    Awwwww thanks for writing this, Kathy. I haven't thought about Mowwy in a long time.

    xxx

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    1. Aw your woolly duck sounds just grand, Jen! I love the name too!! There were definitely times when Monkey was ready for a trip to the bin, but of course I never allowed it! Xx

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  2. Awww cute! I'm glad he is still with you, he is a little sweetie. I've got a teddy 'cream teddy' (as imaginative as you) and he's always been in my bed with me and in a weird way I can't sleep as well without him. xxxx

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    1. Ah, it's nice to know that I'm not the only little soft toy naming genius on the planet!! Xx

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  3. what a cute little story! haha very creative! great job :)

    vickyhoang.blogspot.com

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