stealth panda

Stealth Panda in his Element

Having returned to my weekly routine of work, writing, cooking, and the occasional diversion of laundry or a good book, I've resume my search for a worthy substitute for Xavier, the French Bulldog who will one day enjoy world domination, but whom for the moment isn't born, and therefore cannot dominate anything.

Today my quest led me to my daughter's room, where I often find Stealth Panda under the bed and foraging for dust bunnies.  Stealth and I go way back, eleven years this month.  He is the notorious stuffy favorite; the friend whose faux French accent calms the turbulent waters of my daughter's childhood angst: the tears, the distress, the all-around disgruntlement.  No matter what her mood, Stealth Panda and his crafty ways can fix it.

Is she mad at me?  Stealth has a rude joke for that.

Is she distressed over a friend?  Stealth's lack of hygiene makes her smile.

Has her dad turned an unfeeling shoulder to her tender estrogen?  Again?  Stealth will pester her until she laughs.

Like quantum physics, Stealth Panda has never failed me.  So beginning tonight, I'll launch him into the uncharted waters of world domination.  Everything will go just fine, I'm sure.  Unless he meets up with that radioactive stuffy from Imagine Dragons . . . .