Most treasured

I am come over reflecting on all things lost, broken and soulless these days am I not?

This is wrong wrong wrong. I must remind me of those items I am attached to. I have thought of three. These I will reinvent, no matter which country I inhabit, nor which shape I am. (Although if I take the shape of something sized like a woodlouse or a hippopotamus, then these items will meet with practical difficulties regarding transportation, wearability and ingestion, obviously. I am hoping I do not inhabit these shapes in the foreseeable future.)

1. Aspirin. I have a ridiculous attachment to these little promises of good health and longevity. I stock up on them, the cheaper the better, no fancy packaging, 300mg straight in my face, non-dispersible. I am convinced that aspirin cures anything and everything. Headache? Pain from crumbling womb? Left leg severed at knee? Take an aspirin.

Caveat: If I consume eight tablets in one day, I find my head becomes detached from my body and floats about the room. Maximum, six.

2. Pointy shoes. No-one is parting me from pointy shoes, so no-one better try. Yes, I will wear other toe shapes, obviously, but my first love remains constant until the day I die. In fact I may make sure that I die wearing pointy shoes. I am game for most colours, fabrics, heights, because these are of less consequence than the fact that the toes must point. I especially like pointy shoes that crush both big toe and little toe simultaneously. This helps maintain a well-rounded state of pain (for which item 1 comes in handy). No. I do not think they make me look like a witch.

3. Shark's mug. In the recent kitchen clear-out I have rediscovered Shark's mug. It is one of those paint-your-own ceramic things she made me pay for when she was aged three and I could refuse her nothing. Anyway, it is huge, about the size of a flower bulb bowl. It is so big indeed that I need to clutch it with both hands and raise it to my face which it then completely obliterates from view. I have discovered a very great attachment to it, although I expect it will wane when I drop it in the sink. But, for now, I fill it each morning with my coffee. (Black, no sugar. And don't give me any of that instant mess or I will complain at a speed, volume and duration that most normal people would be ashamed of.)

Come to think of it, Shark's mug may actually be a flower bulb bowl. That would explain the curious lack of handles.

Now, dear and happy reader who made it this far, please broaden my horizons and tell me what object you are most attached to and would not part from, ever. (Rule: cannot be human, sticking out from a human, or have life.)