My whole life, I have been disgusted by lost stickers. You know, the kind that stray from their proud places on notebooks and hands and lunchboxes and wind up on floors of restrooms or subway walls. Ignoble dehorned unicorns, who could be mere horses except no one ever made a sparkly purple horse sticker. Happy faces whose smiles have dimmed. Stars fallen from their galaxies of praise. All gummy and desperate. Ew.
I know that is a lot of prose to describe something so pedestrian, but this sticker thing grosses me out. And now I have them ALL OVER MY HOUSE, thanks to the sticker/praise system of potty training, which is iffy. So far, all we have to show for it is a series of soiled Elmo panties and lots of orphaned "Good Jo" and "ood Job" stickers in places I don't even want to think about, places I don't clean or look. Places you will most certainly consider after you have been at my house, when you find a strange "Kate Donaho, 5813 Highland Hills Drive, etc." sticker on the bottom of your shoe (did I mention Lu is satisfied with any kind of sticker and I have been tempted to put a postage stamp on her after a successful potty?). May you be as grossed out as I am next time you find one.