Alright, let’s talk about this. Whoever wrote this trite nugget from the sweaty nightmares of Nicholas Sparks wrote it on a Build-A-Bear receipt. What’s so special about this Build-A-Bear receipt, you ask? Well, for one, our author purchased a hot pink Hello Kitty Build-A-Bear with leopard print accents, and added a few customized messages. But it’s where this Build-A-Bear store is that is the real story.
This is in Niagara Falls, Ontario, right on Victoria Avenue in Clifton Hill, which is a terrifying amalgam of Las Vegas, Myrtle Beach, and Tijuana, an unsophisticated casserole of unskilled teenagers and Chinese tourists seasoned with regurgitated Jägerbombs and baked to a limp sludge in $30 motor inns. It’s the destination for American kids aged 19 and 20 who can’t yet drink in the States, and the destination for Canadians who want a fabulous, once-in-a-lifetime chance to stare at Niagara Falls for three minutes and then spend the rest of their time drinking Al Keith’s in their room at the Days Inn.
I can only imagine that our heartbroken receipt-scrivener scrawled this after her boyfriend (who was named Bobby, no question about it) left her right outside the Ripley’s Believe-It-Or-Not to get back with his girlfriend Tammy back in Kitchener. She rushed to the Build-A-Bear and constructed this hideous monument to Bobby, which she still keeps next to her bed every night, even though she never mentions to her new boyfriend why.