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Kotaku
I have a rather unfortunate confession to make: my bedroom closet is stuffed with sad button-eyed stuffed animals.
I'm not a furry, I swear. But every birthday or Christmas, my mother pushes a stuffed animal into my hands, a long-running gift tradition that has rather awkwardly crept into my late twenties. At first, I tried to fly home by "forgetting" them, only to have my mother confront me with the rejected stuffed toy at the airport, her face smeared with ashes, her dress rent in sadness. What can I do? I suavely walk onto the airplane lugging a teddy bear along with me. The stewardesses eye me with cold contempt.
Once at a home, I have no idea what to do with these toys. I would throw them away, but I have never quite gotten over my Velveteen Rabbit belief that stuffed animals are secretly alive. Guilt consumes me even locking them in the closet. And there is an awkward moment of reckoning every time a new girlfriend crab walks her way naked from my bed to grab a spare t-shirt from my closet, only to be confronted with a massive pile of idiot man-child playthings.
Nevertheless, I would cuddle this crochet Katamari. You can buy the pattern for five bucks from Etsy.
