I should write a screenplay: Must Love Stuffed Animals.

This is because I have a horcrux. It’s true. Except mine isn’t in the form of a locket or a sword. Mine is a Beanie Baby monkey named Schweethart. I’m going to assume you know what a horcrux is, but, for those of you who chose to read my blog before J.K. Rowling’s books (completely understandable) I’ll give you the Urban Dictionary explanation: a wizard or witch may use Dark Magic to divide their soul and hide it in other objects. I know some of you serious Harry Potter fans will point out that the other part of the definition of a horcrux specifies that one must commit an act of murder in order to create one. Well, I think we can safely say I murdered the Japanese language with that whole “your dick is a weapon” sentence, so, moving on. And while I’m not a wizard and I don’t use dark magic (though one time I grabbed a bunch of hangers from my closet to hang up the clothes in my dryer and I brought the exact number and type of hangers I needed–domestic dark magic FOR SURE), there is absolutely a chunk of my soul in Schweethart.

Sometime in the early 2000s, I was shopping in a Hallmark store when I picked up Schweethart, and his dark and meaningful eyes gazed longingly into mine. It was the closest I have ever come to love at first sight…minus that whole “Yuzuru Hanyu has arrived in Pyeongchang” moment, but don’t tell Schweethart. He gets MAD jealous.

What also makes Schweethart mad is when you imply that he’s not real. Schweethart has several other stuffed, plastic or otherwise inanimate–yet 100% real–friends. His best friend is Wormwood Gloom, an 8” tall Bleeding Edge Goth action figure who lives with my sister. Wormy is in a perpetual state of ROCK (both in his heart and his pointy-finger hands) and is convinced that his parents are David Bowie and Cher. Or Billy Idol and Cher. Either way, that should give you a pretty vivid picture of his personality. One time, Wormy started dating a medium Coke from McDonald’s. “It started out great but then things went a little flat.” His exact words. Schweethart also has some very famous friends like Patrick Dempsey and James Dean (both in doll form but assuredly much more fascinating than their human forms). Patrick Dempsey DOLL’s calendar, for example, is far more fascinating (and provocative–whoa September!) than Patrick Dempsey HUMAN’s. Even though he lives with my sister (Patrick Dempsey Doll not Patrick Dempsey Human–wouldn’t THAT be a twist??), he was still threatened when Arima Doll came to live at my place. This is because Arima Doll has amazing jet black hair dusting his brow…and Patrick Dempsey Doll thought he had cornered the market on exceptional hair. However, Schweethart (who also has the occasional good hair day) was very pleased when Arima came to live with us. Now he finally has someone to speak Japanese with. A bilingual horcrux, he is. (Look at that, Obi, Yoda just snuck in!)

Indeed, it is quite the menagerie of characters that live with me and with my sister, but if I tried to do them all justice, I would end up like that horse in the Neverending Story who gets stuck in the Swamp of Sadness. I can never remember that dang horse’s name. Atreyu? No. That’s the boy. Falcor? No. That’s the awesome flying white dog-dragon-thing that I STILL desperately want. Atreyu! No. That’s the boy AGAIN. For real. Why can’t I ever remember the horse’s name? Cactus reminded me of it the other night (ARTAX, dangit) then proceeded to reenact the entire “ARTAX! Don’t give up! You have to believe! ARRRRTAAAAAX!” scene from the movie. It was just as scarring as when I was seven…if not more.

Cactus once informed me that what I have “going on” with these stuffed animals, action figures, medium Cokes, etc. is a “unique situation.” I’ll take it. I told him I know he thinks I’m crazy. His response? “I think you’re crazy. But I get it.” Though you know who REALLY gets it?

Yu-zu-ru Ha-n-yuuuuuu…….

Yuzu has traveled with a stuffed Winnie the Pooh tissue case for nearly a decade. This isn’t just a “lucky tissue case.” This is different. This is Pooh-san. This is a…unique situation. Pooh-san travels in his own bag. He is carried (out of his bag) to the rink either by Yuzu (unashamedly) or Yuzu’s coach, Brian (somewhat ashamedly). Clearly, Brian doesn’t have a unique situation, folks. Pooh-san watches from the boards as Yuzu warms up and doesn’t abandon his post until Yuzu gently places his hand between those yellow ears and gives his little stuffed head a loving squeeze before taking the ice to kick some serious figure skating ass. After the performance, Pooh-san rejoins Yuzu in the Kiss & Cry. And he doesn’t just sit there inanimately like a towel or bottle of water. When awaiting good results, Pooh-san waves to the camera. Pooh-san reacts to the score. Pooh-san and Yuzu bow to each other. Pooh-san and Yuzu bow to Brian. Pooh-san and Yuzu bow to the camera. When awaiting less than ideal results, Pooh-san sits by Yuzu’s side, a beacon of support all stuffed with fluff who receives subconscious head squeezes or ear rubs from Yuzu as he awaits his score with a terror-stricken look on his face. Tiny connections. He brings Yuzu back. Pooh-san and Yuzu ENGAGE.

Yuzu was recently asked what is his treasure. His answer? My Pooh-san tissue case. And even though it was answered in Japanese, I could still hear the subtext of “Don’t be silly. There’s no question.” This was the answer from someone who has TWO Olympic gold medals, countless other awards including Japan’s Peoples Honor award, thousands of dollars in custom earphones, a portrait of himself drawn by his favorite manga artist, a 4 year supply of rice, every framed certificate ever printed in Japan, the Maltese Falcon and probably a couple of the Emperor’s daughters. And don’t even get me started on how Yuzu talks about “the Winnnnnnie the Pooooooohs” and how he wants to go to the “fowest” with them. Really. I can’t handle it.

Let me be clear. This is very, very important to me. I always knew it would be critical that my mate embrace my unique situation. I never dreamed it possible that he would HAVE HIS OWN! Let’s take a look at that SoulMate score board…yep, still in the lead, Yuz. Still in the lead.

One of those “real” boyfriends with the non-swoon-worthy monosyllabic names I mentioned earlier (I won’t say whether it was Boy 1 or Boy 2, but hey, you’ve got a 50/50 chance) once gave me Toy Story 3 as a gift. A GIFT. For Christmas. To watch. ON CHRISTMAS. Have you SEEN Toy Story 3??? I won’t even give it the honor of discussing all its mortifying moments. Let’s just say that as I sat on my couch, in the dark, shirt drenched from silent tears as I held in sobs (SOBS, people) with my “real” boyfriend’s arms around me watching this….just…guh, I can’t. ON CHRISTMAS. I knew we had nowhere to go but down. I might as well have been a vegetarian gifted a charcuterie platter. No. That’s not strong enough. Bring me a warm, bleeding, raw, animal heart on a spicket. Feliz Navidad!