Last weekend, Max Summers gave Juniper his giant Elmo, because, in his own words, he was "so over Elmo."
Yesterday afternoon, I heard Juniper "cooking" at her new stove, and when I walked in I discovered Elmo's bloated corpse sitting on her bedroom floor, his gaping maw stuffed with innumerable plastic frankfurters. Apparently she stuffed them down his gullet one by one until the poor creature could no longer refer to himself in third person or harass that pothead family that lives behind his window shade. I did not know whether I should be disturbed that my child had committed such a sadistic act of savagery, or whether I should be proud of her.
Either way, considering the way she once longed for his presence in her life when denied it, I have to think this is proof that compromising my elitist attitude about things like old Elmo might not be such a bad idea after all.