When The Going Gets Stuffed...
Just posted a new Advice Goddess column, about a grown man who collects stuffed bears:

My boyfriend of seven months, who’s 43, just moved in with me. Several days ago, he unpacked his “stuffed animal collection,” which consists of 12 teddy bears given to him by ex-girlfriends, and perched them all on the top of our couch. Am I petty to let this bother me? Some of them say things like “Love Margie” or “Happy Valentines Day, baby.”

--Invaded

Who knew in-your-face hostility could be so furry and cute? But, there it is, all “Love Margie,” in a little motorcycle jacket and a tiny scarf and goggles on the teenage girl’s bedspread that used to be your living room couch.

At what point do you stop parsing how petty is too petty so you can unzip your skin and run away screaming? Now, to be fair, I have a friend who’s into stuffed animals. Her name is Sophie, and she’s 7. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is a grown man -- somebody who shaves, pays taxes and will soon get prostate exams -- and he collects teddy bears? And, no, he didn’t amass all 12 by accident, with each girlfriend arriving at the idea herself: “Whoops, I have yet to buy my big, hairy, adult male boyfriend a stuffed toy!”

Personally, I’d be less creeped out by a boyfriend with a collection of brains in Mason jars (providing he mail-ordered them from Body Parts “R” Us and didn’t just help himself to parting gifts from my predecessors). But, there you are, neck deep in Edgar Allan Poe meets Winnie The Pooh, wondering whether you’re being fair. What, exactly, is a dealbreaker for you? A guy who brings his mom on dates? One who wears diapers, and not because he leaks? Or are you more of a classicist, drawing the line at a guy who keeps his mother’s skeleton in the attic, dresses up in her clothes, and runs around waving a long knife to a Bernard Herrmann soundtrack?

If somebody’s a wack job (and we all are on some level), the least they can do is be discreet -- especially if their particular brand of wack involves a retrospective of their ex-girlfriends in stuffed-animal form. Your boyfriend could have a secret cache of teddy bears at his storage space, complete with a little altar that lights up, and a tiny table and chairs where he and the bears can have naked tea parties. Instead, he’s installed his ménagerie à twelve in your living room -- probably because reminding you and himself of Margie and friends is the point. Awww, the poor dear, he must not have gotten the right kind of mommying as a child. Why should he sweat the abandonment issues now, when it’s so much easier to shove this cuddly-wuddly wall between you?

The column continues at this link.