When Yaye threw the Orange Squirrel Away
Many many moons ago when I would visit Yaye's Darby Crash Pad deep in the bowels of the San Fernando Valley, she had an orange squirrel. It was made of the most precious plastic with paper stick-on eyes. I loved that squirell. It would peer happily down upon our intoxication in the middle of Yaye's bedroom floor while we sang or cackled. Then Yaye had to get all New Yorker Manhattanneee and DISCARD the squirrel without my chance of saying goodbye. While I forgave her long ago, there are times when the image of the happy slappy squirrel pops into my head.As you can see, I stumbled upon some blue chip stamp books...remember those? The little vermit while not a squirrel, does embodie the essence that is the Orange Plastic Squirrel, that to my recollection and surprisingly enough does NOT have a name except for Orange Plastic Squirrel.
posted by Yaye & Tallulah at 1:12 AM
3 Comments:
I don't remember the blue chip stamps, but I recall S&H Green Stamps. My mom had drawers full of them. She'd sit at the kitchen table and lick and stick them into books. When she collected enough, she'd trade them in for toasters and waffle irons. Me, I wouldn't even know what to do with a waffle iron; my waffles never get wrinkled enough to require ironing.
Sometimes when waffles sit around for a while, like linen they develop wrinkles, that's when you break out the iron. A little trick my mom taught me.
I remember my mom talking about Blue Chip Stamps, but like Annulla, I remember the S&H Green Stamps more clearly. I'll comment on those at the next post.
However, I will take this opportunity to once again beg my Parco's forgiveness for unduly disposing of Orange Plastic Squirrel (O.P.C.). I so sorry, Parco.
What Parco has not explained is that O.P.C. was, in fact, a cheesy container for cheap bubble bath that, as I recall, was quite stinky in an industrial chemical kind of way. I feel almost certain that O.P.C. was an impulse buy I picked up at Pic 'n' Save when I was about 8 years old. Par example: "Mommy, can I have some bubble bath, pah-leeeeeease?"
Because of my twisted sensibilities, I hung on to the ridiculously hideous item well into my adult years before finally parting ways(I moved to New York when I was 23 for criminy's sake!). Little did I know that O.P.S. would remain such an object of wonder and regret for my Parco.
Mea culpa.
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