Plea

I have been trying to gather things for a garage sale we hope to have next month and I came across a big toy monster truck that never gets played with (and I mean never- as in totally forgotten), so I stuck it out in the garage. The next day, that truck is back in my living room. Apparently HL saw it in my sale pile and promptly brought it back in, saying something to the effect of "you can't sell this! I love this truck!" So this morning I got to listen to a (seemingly) never-ending plea, why we must keep this truck. "It is so special to me, mommy," he says with his hand on his heart for emphasis. "It's a thousand special." I was told that it was a prize-winning truck. I also got a list of all it's attributes; "it has giant wheels- look how big they are!" And "see, it has a combat engine under it." Or "look how bright the lights are, mommy. See, they're right here on the top." "And look how fast I can push it!" I'm not kidding. He went on and on and on, just like the Energizer bunny. So sincere. So endearing. So the truck stays. Much to my chagrin.