Ray

It gets boring in the bath. I try and read, but the book always manages to get wet however carefully I prepare towels to wipe my fingers on. I think about the concept of laminated books for reading in the bath, I think of fiddly contraptions that can be suspended over the bath to prop a book on with a towel bar at the base for hand drying. I think of robotic contraptions that hold the book and turn the pages for you.
Instead I have bathtoys. I have a collection of sea creatures, my favourite being the stingray, known imaginatively as Ray. Ray is the perfect example of a small plastic piece of junk that I have given a name, personality and credit with the capacity for independent thought. I like to name things, it allows me to feel I understand them. I name people based on their appearance and traits, I name objects, I compulsively give myself new names. They’re never wildly creative, no Oxomauritius Fillibuster III or some other name I imagine a precocious nine year old would give to a plush polar bear, my names are usually fairly easy to explain.
I am a chronic anthropomorphiser. I like to make the inanimate animate. However when I think of people who invest human traits in pencil sharpeners or snails or plastic pigs or pieces of paper I picture an annoying frizz-haired girl who never managed to do very well at school and will never move out of home. She spends her time walking neighbourhood dogs and talking to them in squeaky voices. Where I am different in my anthropomorphising is that I am very casual about it. It is no strange thing that Ray can communicate with us, in fact it is normal to be surrounded by a host of sentient objects.
Ray’s beauty lies in his flatness, in his bulbous eyes protruding from his head, his curved wings. When we were at the aquarium, Tim likened stingrays to magic carpets, the way they remain so still and flat and grow to astonishing sizes. Ray is shaped like an obscure piece of cutlery, the kind sold in department stores that are mysterious until the packet lets you know it’s for scooping up eggs or serving pieces of pineapple.
When I bought Ray he was very crisp and new, but after years of haunting the bath, the paint on his spine is chipping. It is satisfying to still be able to wear out a toy. I know I will never have enough fun in the bath as I used to when I was seven and I was obsessed with playing games trapping toys in the face washer and pouring water in and out of a watering can (the beginning of a lifelong affection for watering cans), but at least I still enjoy bath toys.
I placed Ray in the scanner at university, feeling sly. Around me people were working on engineering assignments, whilst I was scanning a plastic stingray. Much of the time I am in this position, doing something odd and frivolous, whilst the Real World continues around me.