I'm kinda handsy.
I always have to have something in my hand (laaaaaaaaaadies). When sitting at my desk, it is normally a pen or a binder clip or something else that I can make annoying noises until my coworkers speak with HR to understand how killing me would effect their employment status.
So to counteract my handsinaciousness, a coworker bought me a small, rubber bear that I can play with and not bother anyone.
The bear soon became part of my office persona. It came with me to meetings, it would turn up in compromising positions on my desk and if you walked by quick enough, you could probably catch me chewing on it (who's scary now, bear?)
But while on the phone on Friday, my cozy, cuddly bear exploded in a mass of Timothy Treadwell.
So today is a sad day. My bear has left me with not only empty hands, but an empty heart.
It's better to blow up in a fireworks display of tiny plastic balls than to fade away.