All this talk is bringing back memories of my first box. *sigh* I was 5 years old. I was a type -A ( or is that type B) perfectionist even back then, and when a little bit of jelly plopped out of my sandwich and on to my dear box, I did what every caring, loving mother would do- I marched that box right up stairs and into the tub.
So, the therapist suggested a new box, and the next Christmas, there it was under the tree!! It was wrapped sooo pretty, but as soon as I saw it, I just KNEW it was a box. Imagine my horror though, when I opened the box, and found a kitten inside! My box ate a kitten!! I screamed and screamed until my dad took the box outside and disposed of it humanely.
The next Christmas there was another box. I was terrified to open it. My mother opened it, and said Awwwwww.. Curiousity got the best of me and I looked inside. A BABYdoll.. I had a pregnant box!!!
I was 7 years old, and I helped the box deliver the baby. Unfortunately, the box did not make it through the delivery... and now I had this baby to raise all by myself.
When I was 8, I had 3 boxes. One got loose and ran out in front of a car. One got attacked by a lawnmower. The 3rd lost it's life in an avalance. (snow slid off the roof of the house)
I did finally get a good box when I was 9. That box was awesome. It was my best friend for one whole summer- til it got boxnapped. I really hope the guy riding on the back the big green truck stole the box because he had been wanting one for a very long time. I did see other boxes in the big green truck , so I think maybe my box was happy to have friends of its own kind.
Ahh, but the years of therapy... luckily, when my husband proposed, he did't present me with a little box...