I have a moose.

He’s just a little moose and he sits on my desk with this ever-patient and sympathetic little tilt to his head that gets me through those afternoons when I’d much rather escape to some little parallel space time with sunshine and chaise lounges and a bottle of wine and a good friend to finish the second half of that second sock but must instead comb through SPSS output or format yet-another chart in Excel or even attend an interminably long Senate subcommittee meeting.

I haven’t yet named him. I’m a bit torn between something appropriately surreal – like Marmoset because, well, he’s not much bigger than one – or something fiber-related – like Niddy Noddy because that’s what his antlers remind me of – or something number-crunchy – like ANCOVA because I miss them or even Wilcoxon because it’s just a fun sounding name, even if I can never remember the difference between it and the Mann-Whitney U. At the moment I’m leaning toward Wilcoxon.


One thought on “I have a moose.

  1. /m says:

    He is, it must be admitted, a very cute moose.

    And he didn’t once get car sick!

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