My girl, sock-girlie sent me a Christmas gift....

"Grow Your Own Boyfriend."

According to the package (bwah!), my boyfriend was supposed to grow "6X his normal size." Well, like all men, my new boyfriend has a warped sense of measurements. You know, the three inches equal six inches affliction most men suffer...you ladies know what I'm talking about.

So, even though my new boyfriend didn't reach maximum size, I am finding that having a plastic boyfriend, as opposed to a living, breathing one, does have its advantages. I can come home, bitch non-stop about my workday, and plastic boyfriend never interrupts one time.

Me: I've had such a hard day at work, honey.

Living, breathing boyfriend: Are you going to make supper?

Plastic boyfriend: Silence.

Me: My coworker is REALLY getting on my last nerve!

Living, breathing boyfriend: The one with the long hair at the party? She's really hot.

Plastic boyfriend: Silence.

Me: Can I talk to you about something important?

Living, breathing boyfriend: Can it wait...the game's on.

Plastic boyfriend: Silence.

So my plastic boyfriend, who I've decided to name Bud, and I are very happy. In fact, I think I'm going to let him take me to the store and buy me some flowers.