Fat the Magic Dragon, or I Might Be Sleeping With a Posessed Stuffed Animal

This is Fat Dragon; or as I affectionately call him, Fatty. He is one of my favorite purchases from the past year, and I think you can see why:How cute is he? He's really soft and his nostrils aren't just little stitches on his nose - those suckers are at least a finger length deep. I know because I've stuck my fingers in his nostrils.

I love Fatty because he's purple, chubby, and flawed. His horns are bent and his teeth are wonky, but he is the perfect cuddle buddy, and I sleep with him every night. Until recently.

This is Fatty's usual sleeping place: Sometimes I use him as a pillow:

Sometimes I use his butt as a pillow:

Aside from the fact that I look totally and completely peaceful and natural when I "sleep", my point is that Fatty always sleeps in the bed. Always. And we have a routine in the morning. I awake to the sounds of "Milkshake", hit the snooze button, roll over and wrap my arms around Fatty, burying my face in his soft chubby goodness, and go back to sleep.

However, last week, Fatty somehow bucked the system. I woke up as usual, hit the snooze, rolled over, but there was no Fatty. I flailed my arm around until it became apparent that he wasn't anywhere in the bed. I peered over both sides of the bed to see if I'd kicked him onto the floor during the night, but Fatty was nowhere to be found.

Until I looked across the room and saw this:I sat up in bed and just stared at him as I tried to process the situation through my foggy early morning haze. And he just stared right back, mocking me.
As you can see, the chair is far enough from my bed that there's no way I could've knocked him off the bed into the chair during the night. Somehow, someway, Fatty had made his way from my bed to the chair, and I have no idea how. Bone Senior and I did, however, come up with a theory. Prepare to be wowed by our combined intelligence.

Fatty is the only stuffed animal that I own. Actually, that's not true - I have an "Ask Me Eeyore" in a box in the garage. He's like a talking Magic 8 Ball, except he's equal parts Debbie Downer and fortune teller. He was banned to the garage after I repeatedly asked him "Will my boobs ever get bigger?" and his response was always "Outcome does not look good." Forget you, Eeyore. You are dead to me now.

Anyway, Fatty doesn't have anyone except me to keep him company. Bone Senior and I believe that Fatty waits until he sees visions of sugarplum fairies dancing in my head, and then he sneaks out of bed and explores the house. He probably tries on my shoes and uses my cold cream. Maybe he spritzes his wrist with my perfume and admires himself in my mirror. Only Fatty truly knows what happens in the wee hours of the night.

On the morning of "the encounter", I assume he didn't have time to make it back into bed before I woke up, and he froze in place on my chair. Hence the creepy staring contest that ensued. And hence the reason I haven't slept with him since.

Disirregardless of Fatty's nightime shenanigans and tom foolery, I truly hope he's enjoying himself whilst I slumber. And I hope he appreciates my shoes as much as I do.