You may be asking yourself, “who is Sesapus? Where did he come from?” Ok, so, you probably aren’t. But I’m going to tell you the back story on my little 6-legged stuffed squish of joy anyway.
My friend (and fellow girl scout) Kasey gave me the stuffed creature as a birthday gift one year because it reminded her of an inside joke we have involving a squid.
When we were wee little scouts, we played a game called “would you rather.” One infamous night, Kasey asked us, “would you rather have to watch [the overweight principal of our middle school] dance around in a man-thong or use a squid as a tampon?”
I picked squid. (Although I doubt it would be a very good absorbent).
Hence, the gift.
It was not until high school when my good friends Grayson and Ellen decided he was actually of the octopi family and named him “sesapus” based off the spanish word for 6: seis.
He became a good friend and party go-er and when I packed for college, I did not hesitate to bring good old Sesy with me. (I am not weird).
There he was made into a pimp by my floor-mate Cesar (who also raped him with his hand, using a sock as protection. It was a very traumatic experience for everyone involved).
Sesapus had a brief stint with Rastafarianism a couple months ago, but now he’s back to good old seduction.
He is basically my inanimate pet. I don’t need to feed him. I don’t need to clean up after him. He doesn’t smell. He doesn’t lick my face. We’re basically meant to be.