I have no problem with stuffed animals. In fact, I have purchased a karate outfit for one stuffed bear and some knickers for another, neither of them mine. Once, I went into Build-a-Bear and a girl asked me if I needed some help. I replied, “Just shopping for a friend.” I had meant a human acquaintence of mine who owned a stuffed animal, but by the look on her face then and later when I was buying the pint-sized boxer briefs, she obviously thought I was talking about my “best friend in the world” – like maybe a stuffed monkey named Pepsi sitting on my couch waiting for me to get home with his present. It didn’t even bother me that much. What does bother me is the teddy bear sitting on a bookshelf in the classroom full of children at the school I work. She needs some underwear.