Yesterday I went to the TMC to find puppets for tonight’s night check performance.  Our R.A.s always expect us to do something crazy, so I chose the three most unique puppets I could find.  The first puppet was a puffy elephant with a maneuverable trunk, my second choice was a cheerful-looking cow, and the third was a rather awkward chicken.  After whisking them up to the counter, I asked if I could check them out, and the girl behind the desk asked for my name and information.  Before I left, she asked me if I wanted a bag.  How heavy does she think three puppets can possibly weigh?  They aren’t even cumbersome to hold; they squish effortlessly in my arms.  Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned HOLDING things?  A bag.  Ha!  “No, I’ll be fine.”  I swept up the elephant, cow, and chicken in my arms and traipsed down the steps from the TMC.  A girl walking past me stared at the menagerie contained in my arms as I continued on my merry way, out into the sun.  Then another person passed me and another.  After being asked if I needed help (which I declined), I began to wish that I had some way to conceal my small zoo from sight.  Then I remembered the bag.