A love story

He wasn't what you would call handsome. His head was too big, a bit too round. His ears were large. He had an odd fashion sense, always seen sporting red and blue overalls (minus the straps) straight from a country farm. And he was perpetually dirty.

I was just a little kid from Tennessee. I did not care about his clothes. I overlooked his bulky head and his desperate need for a bubble bath.

I loved him.

I loved him because he was the strong silent type. Always ready to listen and never one to talk back. If I needed a hug, he was there. If I wanted to play pretend, he was there. He was an ever-present friend in my childhood years.
I was in love with... a monkey.

His name, one you might guess from a 4-year old mind, was Monk.

Monk was my trusted and true friend. He traveled everywhere I did and racked up a ton of miles on those fuzzy little legs.

Monk is the one childhood item I could not bear to leave. Yes, he has been tied up in a white plastic bag on a top shelf in the closet, but he is still here. He survived the transition into my grown-up home.

We had a long-awaited reunion last night.

World, meet Monk. He's still funny-looking. He's still dirty.

And he is awesome.

Another post inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop!
(Prompt: A love story)