My keychain, until a couple weeks back, was a blue plastic heart, embedded with rhinestones which formed a tasteful Union Jack. Until I dropped it on cement, and the molded loop thing that held it onto the keyring broke clean off. "Fuck!"
I have a bear called Steve. He's some mohair fancy-pants limited edition thing, but I got him at a store closing for a tenth of his alleged value. I like him because he looks like he's run full-tilt into the sliding glass doors -- several times -- and has the face of an amicable Schnauzer who's just come off a good game of golf.
Here he is, along with the keychain:
He's waving to you.
And here they both are:
Ingredients: Busted keychain, leather straps super-glued on the back, sash made with embroidery thread, two pajama drawstrings, and the elastic off a box of candy.
What do you mean, you don't save your pajama drawstrings? What on Earth is wrong with you?
My new keychain is an enameled brass 1970s abomination with two Beefeaters flanking a London bus. Or it might be R2-D2 in red. I'm not quite sure. The end.
![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
sepiamagpie.
