TEDDY BEAR

I have never thought of myself as a Teddy Bear. If I have to pick a commercial icon I would choose the Pillsbury Dough Boy. It has never been my goal to look like him, but I certainly have his shape. I do get called soft (if I worked out maybe I could change that), cuddly (huh!), sweetie (no one has licked me yet), and darling (with the Billy Crystal – Fernando Llamas accent).

I know some of these women are hungry for physical touch. One, who is old enough to be my mother, has told me what she wants and I cannot repeat it in writing. I have never been that bold with a woman. If I am seated she will come and hug my neck and if she can work it in, a kiss on the cheek. I like my mother figure and have never resisted, but she gets bolder every time.

There is another who sneaks up on me and kisses my cheek before I even know she is there. She also whispers in my ear. With my recent heart problems she is more aggressive and does it with compassion and sympathy. Right.

Two others often approach from the side and give me the old side hug and a squeeze. So far they have avoided my rear end and my lips. Whew! Four or five others pat me on my shoulder or back. I guess losing 1½ inch in height makes me easier to reach.

I have never fought any off or even offered to arm wrestle any of them. I suppose that means I have opened the door to all the physical contact. Maybe I have, but I like most of it. What I don’t like is being considered someone’s squishy little teddy bear.

I have considered ways to get around some of this. I have been trying to find a pair of shoulder pads at a thrift store and maybe a helmet with a facemask. Someone told me you can buy a fake tush. I think it is suppose to make it stick out so you are more attractive. I can’t possible see how that would work. My stomach would push out the front and my rear end would pop the other direction. Just the thought seems unattractive. Am I missing something?

I’m finally losing some of my hair. I still have lots, but it is thinning and a few like to touch it or run their fingers through what is left. I now have a small wart growing on my forehead and they often bump it with their fingers when galloping through the moss and they hit it. I laugh. That will teach them. What is that? Cancer. You have cancel? Poor baby. That comment is a mistake it only brings more sympathy and more touching — a hug and kiss on the cheek. I must think of something contagious to call it. Maybe I'll call it a land mine.

I think I am supposed to be pleased by all the attention, and to a degree I am. But when they line up I am embarrassed and afraid the line might get longer. Admittedly some are discussed by the habits of their friends and would not touch me with a life ring from a sinking boat (win some and lose some).

As for me it would surely help if I weren’t so darn cute and cuddly. I told my daughter that I used to be good looking. Maybe it’s coming back after all these years.