My dear, sweet 3 ½ year old begged us for a Pillow Pet for two weeks. Every time that I thought she had forgotten about it, the commercial would come on the television and remind her to ask us again. My husband got so fed up the other morning, he grabbed his keys and headed to Wal-Mart. He emerged half an hour later with the lady bug pillow pet that is now wrapped in my daughter’s embrace even as I write this post.

The pillow pet has been our worst nightmare. It’s not that it can talk or that it sheds pet hair or even lights up at night. It acutally does none of that.  It’s the fact that I have to pry it out of her little fingers so get her to eat a meal, pull it out of the tub before she turns on the jets, forbid it from being taken into the bathroom, kiss it before bedtime and yes, sing to it. I wish that I had half the marketing resources and mind manipulation that the creators of this little shaggy pillow has. The song is a jingle that the kids remember and sing over and over again. The concept is cheap and efficient and when I’m not completely annoyed, it’s sort of cute. It’s a pillow, it’s a pet…