Rag Doll

I feel like the rag doll that has been plucked out of the toy box, sucked on by the child, dropped on the floor, picked up by the dog, taken outside and peed on, buried in the garden, dug up by Mom, only to be handed back to slobbering child.

I'm flattered at being the favorite toy, but it's time to let Buzz Lightyear see a little action. Everybody seems to need a piece of me, but I am certain that if baby would just keep his mouth shut, the dog would get the right chew toy, and Mom would offer more options to the child I wouldn't be in such high demand.

Eventually my arms are going to fall off, and that won't be pretty.

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