I hate it when I break things. It doesn’t happen a lot, but when it does, a scribble cloud appears over my head soon after. Here I was foolishly deciding to move a chair from one room to another without clearing a path for myself first. “Oh, I’ll just step over things”, I thought. “I have an iron clad photographic memory, so I’ll know exactly where to place each foot as I step, without having to look.” And then…CRUNCH! Surprise! I promptly stepped squarely on one of my son’s new birthday toys, a Playmobil giraffe. (btw, I love you Playmobil. I think I might be addicted).
Oh, the horror of it all. Poor gal, she never stood a chance. Her left ear lopped off and one glorious ossicone almost busted in two. She was part of a bigger toy set and I just felt awful. Not to mention the “Why did you break my giraffe?” question that followed me into the kitchen as I tried to get a better look at the damage I caused. “I didn’t mean to step on it. We’ll get a new one. Maybe I can fix this.” I answered. “Here, let’s try this,” I said as I spied another great birthday present given by a friend. Clay! yes, we’ll use clay. And so began the experimental Frankenstein resurrection of Le Giraffe….
After explaining that it would take two incomprehensibly long days for the repaired area to set (“Why? Why?”), my son managed to wait patiently and then immediately jumped at the opportunity to paint the area once it had fully cured. After a little clean up by moi, we had ourselves a new fangled frenchy giraffe in a highly fashionable orange beret. We’ll see how long this new look lasts and if the clay truly bonded with the plastic or is just pretending. In the meantime, I received a new adult giraffe with a bonus baby giraffe in the mail, turning this tall drink of water officially into being the dada giraffe, according to my 3-year old herdsman. And he’s one finely accessorized dapper dada giraffe at that.
