If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple. And if you were an object that is currently abandoned in my dorm, you’d be my string lights that don’t work. Maybe try changing the metaphorical batteries?
If I had to assign you an abandoned object in my dorm room, it would definitely be the can of Amy’s Brand Veggie Barley Soup that I paid like $6 for at My Market: homey, comforting, and maybe moldy.
Your government-assigned object from Lathrop 215 is definitely my Whole Entire Art History Notebook: all my notes from all of 105 and 106, not that I need that for my final or anything.
You’ve been assigned my weighted blanket, because apparently Cancers love a weighted blanket. It’s like you’re cozy, and also the touch starvation is somewhat quelled. You love to see it.
You would be my annotated copy of “The Great Gatsby” from my junior year of high school that I brought as a comfort object. There’s little justification for this one; it just reminds me of summer.
You would be the beautiful succulent that I bought at Home Depot and named after Claire from Bon Appétit: usually the most resilient being I know, but right now I’m quite worried for your well-being.
You’d be my art wall that’s definitely not to fire code: aesthetically pleasing but worried about breaking rules. For a fun game, violate Vassar fire code at home! Hang a bedsheet on your wall for the thrill.
You would be the laundry that I told myself I’d get back to as soon as I got back. Not to say that you need to be cleaned. Or maybe you do. I don’t know your life. Take a shower if you want.
Your object is the Shrek action figure sitting on my window ledge, stuck in a perpetual wave, courtesy of my roommate. No explanation necessary.
You would be my incredibly useful sneakers that I neglected to bring home with me because I didn’t have room in my suitcase. How does it feel being so damn practical with nowhere to go, huh?
Your object is my sunglasses: Just like you, they look cool, are super useful and are a great impromptu disguise. And, they have a prescription of -4.5, so they only work if you’re ~unique~ (read: incredibly nearsighted).
I’m a mattress-pad-user, and I miss it even though it kept falling off my bed and I had to safety pin it and even then it wouldn’t stay. You’re kinda like my mattress pad: soft, dreamy, slipping…