Answer Me This

I just got off the phone with N, my buddy from the office who calls me The Bear. She calls me that because of my current sedentary lifestyle. Until recently N and I would pull 16-hour days, five sometimes six days a week. This gruelling pace would go on for months.

Up to the time I left my job in May, I was a very high stressed individual. Surviving (with the help of a lot of caffeine) on an average of 4.5 hours of sleep a night. I'd close one deal one day and move to another on the next. There was no rest for the Capital Markets Senior Ass. (That's short for Associate, not a description of my personality, although others would not agree.)

But that was then and this is now. Now I nap 5 hours a day. I have not had a cup of coffee in a week, and have no idea what the next big deal is in the market. I'm stress free and rather happy. Although I must admit I miss not being in the know.

But wait, I digress.

Tonight's post was, well is, supposed to be about bears. Cartoon bears to be specific. On her way home from work (check time of this post) N and I were discussing the different cartoon bears of our youth. Yogi Bear and his nephew Boo Boo Bear, Winnie the Pooh, Fozzie Bear, Paddington Bear, the Care Bears. At first I couldn't remember who Boo Boo Bear was, until N explained that he was the Yogi's younger sidekick. A less annoying Scrappy-Doo, you could say. (Now do you remember?)

We tossed around the obvious question, "If you could be a cartoon bear, who would you be?" I chose Yogi, N chose Winnie. We reminisced about favorite episodes; I told her about my Care Bear sticker collection. She told me about her Winnie the Pooh lunch box. It was a fun way for N to kill the hour's drive home.

But then our conversation turned serious. After a short but noticeable pause, N shared with me a thought she'd kept secret a long time. I held my breath as I listened. I was shocked but not surprised that we actually had the same dirty little secret. The same thought we both agonized about, yet ashamed to share with anyone.

But not anymore.

So now I ask the very same question that stole the innocence of N's and my childhood. The question that has plagued us, crippled us, tortured us. Reader, I ask you:

Why don't these friggin' bears wear any knickers?