We have a plush Dum Dum Drum Man affixed to the bedroom wall. And by we, I mean me. Even if there was an unused nail sticking out from the wall, I really have no excuse.
Our house is just not quite there when it comes to having some sort of cohesive interior design. On the one hand, the PCS moves have killed off the weak furniture and we have a few nice couches and dining table.
On the other hand, the Navy-paid movers will ship everything and there is little incentive to throw things out. I forgot to empty a wastebasket once and they packed the garbage. Undoubtedly there are some ridiculous stories out there about what service members have carted across thousands of miles and I can imagine that some day we will find ourselves having shipped rice to Asia or sunblock to Seattle.
A co-worker and I used to sit in his office eating lollipops, joking that we had so many wrappers we should send them in for merchandise. He died in a freak accident, I was left with a desk full of wrappers, and now I have the Dum Dum Man and two matching insulated lunch bags. It is a ridiculous shrine, a token tribute somehow appropriate to the absurdity of the tragedy.
When the house is painted next week, the Dum Dum Man will be removed from our wall. Maybe he can go into our daughter’s room, where only the strong survive.
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