I went out to lunch with my parents today, and my mom, believing that I’m still five years old, gave me a couple “presents,” or “prezzies” as she likes to call them (and which causes minor barfing in my soul).

One of the… “prezzies” was a small Ewok doll that she picked up at Burger King (only the best for her favorite son):

Lunch was at a restaurant, and it was really embarrassing to be handed this… “prezzie” in public. The nervous, self-conscious person in me wanted to stand up and explain to everybody in the restaurant that it was perfectly normal for my mother to be giving me, a grown man who has spent twenty-seven blood-curdling years on this planet, such a silly little toy because, well, “she’s nuts.”

However, at times like this, standing up and giving an impromptu speech to a room full of people who just want to eat their Pad Thai in peace is just the sort of thing that draws even more unwanted attention, so I remained seated, thanked her, and stuffed the doll in my purse as quickly as possible.

(Note to self: in the future, don’t reveal details like “stuffed the doll in my purse.”)

Lunch ended, and I took the thing home.

In private, I was much less embarrassed of having an Ewok doll, and I happily took him out of his package. Then I made him do a little dance and sing a little song, but that’s none of your business.

Later in the day, I was working on one of the short story ideas I’ve been outlining, and I hit a tough spot. I had all these characters wrapped up in their own little worlds, each heading toward some final conflict and resolution, and I realized that I just didn’t know how to get past the hump. I was scared to go any further because it was a turning point in the story, and I didn’t want to ruin it.

I sat in my chair, spun around a few times, and got absolutely nowhere.

Then I remembered the Ewok.

I went and fetched him from the counter, and set him down on my desk. I then very patiently explained the predicament of each of the characters in my story, and that I was unsure of what to do next.

About three quarters of the way into my explanation, I suddenly realized what I wanted and how to tie these little points together. My problems evaporated. Buh-bye.

All from talking to a stuffed Ewok.

The problem now is that I can see myself relying too much on the little bastard. When I go to buy my first house, am I going to bring him along during whatever negotiations that might occur?

“That’s really interesting, Mrs. Realtor-Person, but before we go any further with this deal, I have to consult my Ewok.”

I hope it doesn’t come to that.

And, if you’re wondering, no: I did not consult with the Ewok on the content of this post.

But that’s just because he’s sleeping. He’s had a long day.