Or I might give my items humanitarian names and histories. Jelly might become Jezel, an over-the-hill woman who has grown too flabby to be the beautiful show girl she once was twenty years ago. The only thing that gives her even the smallest self-esteem boost is her sticky relationship with peanut butter, who she calls Petey Butler. I go on and on until I’ve created a soap opera about my dietary supplements and realize that I’m blocking the snack aisle, and have been for a good fifteen minutes.
This is a prime example of letting your imagination run away with you. And an example of how my poor child has to compete with my muse for attention.