You should see how many fucking teddy bears I have. I just can’t get enough! Shit, last time I counted it was up to 150. I’ve got most of them in the bedroom, but I can hardly fit another goddamn thing in there, so I had to start putting them in the living room.
I’ve got all different kinds of teddy bears. I can’t go shopping without falling in love with a new one. Everyone always says, “Oh, shit, Brenda—here we go again!” But I tell them to mind their own fucking business because I love my bears.
I’ve got the plain-old cute little brown teddy bears with the big eyes that say, “Pick me up and hug me!” I’ve got all sorts of bears dressed up like firemen and ballerinas. I’ve also got one that’s a businessman in a suit and glasses, with a button that says, “Teddy R. for President.” It must mean that fucking cute-ass Teddy Ruxpin.
I’ve also got this one giant fucking bear that I won at the Greene County Fair last summer. It took me an hour at the dart-throw to win it, but it was worth it. It’s got the best fucking paws.
I started collecting teddy bears when my aunt gave me one dressed up like a nurse for graduation, because I told her I wanted to be a nurse someday. But then it turned out that if I wanted to be a nurse I would’ve had to go to college and shit. Now I just work at the Pik-It-Up. It fucking bites, but at least I got my bears.
My favorite bear is this adorable little one wearing a little black leather jacket. On the back of the jacket it says, “Tough Teddy.” Is that the cutest fucking thing, or what? Joe sometimes takes me around on his Harley, so I want to get another “Tough Teddy” to bungee-cord to the back of the seat. I’m not gonna put the one I’ve got on there, though, ’cause it would probably fall right off and land in the goddamn mud. Teddy bears are a bitch to wash. If you put them in the washing machine, their eyes always get scratched and their fur gets all fucked up.
That’s why I always tell the kids, “Don’t touch my fucking teddy bears—or else!” When Brianna was two, I had a bunch of my stuffed bears in a big round wicker chair in the living room of the trailer, because the bedroom had a leak. So one day, I was at the neighbor’s trailer having a few beers, and when I came home Brianna has the whole goddamn chair knocked over, and my teddy bears are everywhere. Christ! I tell you, you can’t leave a two-year-old alone for 40 minutes without a problem. She’s got my Hawaiian Hula Bear in her mouth and she’s chewing the goddamn plastic flowers right off of the neck. After that I learned if I want anything nice I better goddamn well keep it out of the fucking kids’ reach, for Christ’s sake.
Recently, I started collecting teddy bear figurines, too. They have some really cute ones at the Hallmark store. I was showing my girlfriend Tanya my roller-skating bear figurine, and she says, “You’d better start collecting something smaller, or you won’t have room for yourself in here anymore.” So I say, “You’re not fucking kidding!”
The other day, Sheila, this fucking bitch I work with at the Pik-It-Up, started talking about this Bride ’n’ Groom Bear Couple she said I would die for. She said the bride’s even got a little veil that her ears stick out of. Now, that sounded adorable, and if Joe and I ever get hitched, I figure we could stick it on top of one of my ma’s chocolate sheet cakes. So I asked Sheila where she got the bears. She just says, “I don’t know,” real smart-ass like. So I say to her, “Tell me where you got the fucking bears!” and she just smiles and says, “I forget.” The fucking ho-bag! I wanted those fucking bears.
Why should Sheila give a shit about them, anyway? I’ve seen her sad excuse for a teddy bear collection. She’s got some of the ugliest fucking bears I’ve ever seen. All these goddamn crocheted things that aren’t even fuzzy, for fuck’s sake. Who’d want a stupid, scratchy-ass teddy bear like that?
Finally, I couldn’t stand her goddamn smirk anymore, so I grabbed the collar of her Pik-It-Up uniform, and I got about an inch from her face, and I said, “Where’d you get the bears?” All the while, I’ve got my L.A. Gear high-tops pressing down on her toes, which are sticking out of the girly-ass sandals she’s wearing. Just then Mr. Schumacher walks out of the office and sends me home for the rest of the day.
“Fuck it,” I said to myself. I knew I could beat the info out of Sheila any old time. Fucking bitch. Christ!
This Sunday, I went to Adorables Unlimited over at Northlake Mall and, sure enough, the bear wedding couple was right there on the goddamn shelf. It set me back a shitload, but they were too fucking cute to pass up. The groom is wearing a little top hat and tails, and he’s even got little black shoes!
When I got home, I put them on top of the TV instead of saving them in the box, ’cause I don’t think there’s gonna be any goddamn wedding unless Joe stops hanging around at The Pit Stop Tavern every goddamn night, letting all those fucking waitress sluts paw at him. The Bride ’n’ Groom Bear Couple even came with a little red carpet to unroll and put them on, just like a real fucking church! They’re so fucking cute!
