Of Trapos.

I always joke about how as a third child, I always got the hand-me-downs from my brothers.  So, I was left to play with GI Joes and Star Wars action figures since I did not get toys of my own.  (Of course, this is a joke, because I know I was doted upon by my family.)  Still, when prompted to talk about toys I had as a kid, I usually say something along the lines of "I played with a rag."

This "rag" of course was my trapo -- or as you gringos might call it, my blankie.

I was attached to my trapo for an embarrassingly long time.  I would hide it from my mom so that it wouldn't get washed.  I would suck my thumb and take it with me on trips.  My trapo and I were inseparable.  Except when it came to bathtime.  Then I had a special trapo that would play with me in the tub.  I had very vivid memories of playing with that rag in the tub -- imagining it was some kind of fish or something.  When I think of playing with toys from my youth, that rag is one of the first things I think of...

I'm happy to see that I am not the only one who understood the joy of bathtime trapo.  Maybe it runs in the family.