I am on my couch.
In my lap is a Target bag full of tiny magical pouches which each contain a surprise Care Bear.
Sounds like incredible news, right? Well, I thought so too.
At first.
A few weeks ago I noticed Mr. Paul had a tiny, but good-looking, blue and shiny Care Bear figurine in the console of his car. Immediate interrogation. Apparently, it's a thing now that Target and Walmart are selling these little sealed and non-transparent pouches full of Care Bear figurines. One bear per pouch. He gave me the one in his car because it happened to be a Care Bear he doesn't care for. So, said Care Bear has been standing on my table next to an antique lamp ever since.
But then, a few days ago, while out shopping for camp supplies, another Care Bear pouch was purchased, and subsequently ripped open while waiting on line in the Burger King drive-thru. Alright, not an excellent bear, but one I was considering bringing into my home.
There wasn't a problem with any of this though, until last night. Last night, a long conversation was held involving these Bears. I was made aware that not only are there Bears, there are also: My Little Ponies, Crystal Pets, Disney Princesses, and - as I discovered this afternoon - KITTENS.
Maggie and Mr. Paul and I plotted on how best to acquire the specific Bears we most enjoy. They produce more of some of the less popular Bears, you see. Maggie and I are partial to, and very eager to find, Grumpy Bear. Mr. Paul has one My Little Pony in particular he is gunning for.
All day today, through rehearsals and twice teaching the children and more rehearsals I was excited for my late afternoon trip to Target for groceries and, well, toys.
I zoom to the toy section and try not to mow over the indigenous toddlers. I am not even sure this Target carries what I'm looking for. I had received distressing news only moments before that Mr. Paul's Walmart no longer does. But- there they are. I find not just one but two bins of My Little Pony pouches. Now- the My Little Pony pouch producers have made the gross gaffe of leaving transparent one tiny swirl of the plastic pouch. So, rather than buying them all, I stand there for ten minutes and squish and squeeze each Pony into a position which allows me to see its color and markings. Unfortunately, none of these pouches contains Mr. Paul's preferred pony. No one lose hope.*
I purchase seven Care Bear pouches.*
I also purchase some very exciting ice cream and lunches for the upcoming camp week.
I get in the car. As I turn out of Libbie Place onto Broad St. I think: OK- what I will do is open one pouch per week at the end of camp. As a prize. I mean- I'll open one now, of course, but other than that.
At a red light on Staples Mill, I tear into the first pouch my hand finds rifling blindly through the bag.
My heart actually pounds for a beat. I glance down- hopeful......I can see an orange tint reflected on the inner silver lining of the bag. Oh NO. The one I opened while waiting on line at Burger King is orange. I bet it's the same one. I don't want another of that one.
It is, in fact, the same one. I am madder than I care to admit. I scowl my way past Wendy's and Cook-Out and recalibrate my plan. I could always give that bear to Maggie. But- I think she said she already has that bear. And I know Mr. Paul doesn't like that bear. Hmm. I know some children. I wonder if Brendan and Meghann's daughter or Heather's son would like this Bear. But then, no- I think these Bears are for 4 years and up. I could throw it away? That seems a waste.
Mostly I'm just angry.
I arrive home and unload my groceries. I am thinking I will still try and save opening the remaining pouches. Scatter them throughout the summer. Seems wise.
I have opened four more. ALL DISAPPOINTMENTS.
The disappointing Bears are now lying on the couch to my left. On top of their discarded plastic shrouds. I've never even heard of one of these Bears. It's pink and has a pink heart at the center of its stomach with rainbow shards radiating all around. It's called Hopeful Heart Bear.
I certainly don't remember that from when I was two.
I want the Cupcake Bear. The Cupcake Bear and Grumpy Bear. I had an actual stuffed Cupcake Bear when I was small. He is yellow. I mislaid him once for thirteen years and was convinced my father had done away with him in an attempt to clean out the attic. My mother tried to convince me otherwise, but I held firm. Until I found him.
My Popple, however, remains AWOL.
So, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm frustrated. I'm disappointed. Honestly, I feel restricted and torn between the responsibility and maturity which would dictate my saving the remaining pouches and the adrenaline rush that instantly floods in with the gratification of tearing them open all at once.
I have no clever closing line. I'm too miffed.
*Pouches are very cheap.** As though one could ever put a price on heart-pounding day-long anticipation in the lives of children. And people in their thirties.
**Pouches also bear the added distinction of having that new pool float smell. One of my favorites.
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