So last Friday I spent the better part of the afternoon sitting around waiting for a buff, patent-leather-clad Carrie Anne Moss to text "you're the one" to my iPhone.
[You're either following me into The Matrix here, or you're mocking my unexpected penchant for science fiction. If it's the latter, just know that you're only revealing yourself to be as of yet unenlightened; tune back into whatever it is McDreamySteamy's got going on at the hospital.]
Since there's only like two of you who actually know what the hell I'm talking about, what I'm trying to say is that the weirdest freaking thing happened the other day. My mom was rooting around in a bunch of boxes in the attic, searching for some long-lost dolls that had belonged to my sister and me. Instead she came across a couple bags of clothes, ranging from infant to about size seven. She rifled through, separating the dolly dress-up garments from the ones we'd save for Bugglegirl's future wardrobe (like my yellow tee shirt with the unicorn and rainbow iron-on from second grade!).
About halfway through the bunch, my mom pulled out a quilted vest, baby blue with tiny white flowers and white trim. It looked almost homemade, but for the tag sewn in at the neckline. A tag to which was taped another, makeshift tag bearing the bubbly, all-caps handwriting of my childhood. It read, simply: BUGGLEGIRL . And below that, GREAT COAT.
Consider this: None of my childhood friends were named Bugglegirl. None of my dollies were, either. There aren't any popular children's fictional characters by the name. Bugglegirl isn't even in the top 200 most popular girl's names. Plus, Bugglehub was the one who came up with it - the name wasn't even on my radar.
Or, was it?
There's no such thing as coincidence.
2 years ago
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