The Captain

Are you one of those people who names things?

I do sometimes.

When the objects seems to require one.

Take our cat, for instance. The meatball needs a name we can yell when she throws up on things. This situation required a naming.

This same reasoning is why we named our children. When they throw up on things, we have to distinguish which meatball did it, and our displeasure towards said meatball.

Jeremy's family names their cars (Jeremy hasn't done this, though...which is kinda weird since he has an old Mustang, and it seems that after 50 years the poor, stupid thing should have a name...).

For some reason, I have felt the need to give a name to the other person who sleeps in my bed besides Jeremy.

Jeremy doesn't like him, because I prefer to snuggle with him rather than Jeremy, but that's because he doesn't have bones.

He's my body pillow.

He's only in bed-residence when I'm el prego, so most nights he sits limply on the floor.

I called him "Bob" for a long time, but it just didn't seem right.

Bob.

Nope.

And then, after 6 pregnancies and a vast number of years, I realized what his name is.

Captain Pellew.

No, I didn't spell that wrong.

This is Captain Pellew:

So, every night, when I lay down, I giggle...Mostly because Captain Pellew is such a starchy poop most of the time (BUT, has a heart of gold), and my pillow is super squishy...the dichotomy is pleasing to my soul.

Captain Pellew...my body pillow....tee hee hee....

I ares the queen of all the puns...