My four year old daughter has been affectionately labeled as "The Marauder" by her older brother and sister. Anything she gets her hands on, she tears to pieces. It is a continuous struggle for everyone in the house to keep their valuables out of her hands, before she annihilates them. One of her favorite objects to try and steal is Bullseye, my stuffed animal in the shape of the Target mascot dog.
BullsEye was given to me by the HR Team Leader after I had won a customer service contest held at the Target store where I used to work. That little dog meant a lot to me -- it was a symbol to me representing the pride I took in my customer service, service that I received many commendations and good ratings for, service that I tried to keep giving wholeheartedly even in the face of the most obnoxious and abusive jerks ever to drive Cadillacs and Jaguars. All the customer service I conscientiously gave didn't amount to didley when they fired me on December 26th for a mistake I made, when I was so sick I could barely stand up and I hadn't had my mood-meds for weeks.
Today my daughter found Bullseye again. It used to be that I would take it away from her, to protect it. Today, I stopped myself, thought twice, and decided to let her keep Bullseye, knowing that in a matter of days it will be reduced to a pile of cloth scraps and stuffing.
After the screwing in the a* I got from Target, why should I keep the piece of sh*? So I told my daughter, "here you go, sweetums, all yours."
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