As a child, I saw love everywhere, and it became my calling to play matchmaker to my toy bin.

Barbie paired up with my brother’s Luke Skywalker doll (which he insisted was an “action figure”). This romance persisted despite my being schooled on how a Jedi renounces personal attachments, and could I please just put his kimono back on?

A Happy Meal Gonzo wearing an ascot while driving a boat for some reason, and an elephant Beanie Baby that I’m hopeful is worth upward of one hundred dollars on eBay. Gonzo’s gusto seemed a good balance to Peanut’s lethargy. Also, the nose thing?

Donatello and Battle Damage He-Man bonded over their love of oversized weaponry, exaggerated musculature, and pizza. I enjoyed watching He-Man’s battle-ravaged heart heal, not through the Power of Greyskull, but through the power of love in a half-shell.

Chutes & Ladders came with four clumsy-yet-enthusiastic game pieces that naturally paired up to help each other navigate a game board rife with safety hazards. This tided me over in the doll department until I got my first box of crayons.

All my crayons were in monogamous relationships with colors I liked equally. If their wrappers were peeled off, they were definitely doing it. The weird broken colors, like chartreuse and goldenrod, were always the crayon babies.

Does your person have droll wit, a penchant for oversharing, and a secret recipe for curry vindaloo? Also, glasses? Who needed Tinder when you had Guess Who?

I say it was done by Miss Scarlet, with Professor Plum, in the conservatory, by candlelight.

My favorite playing card frequently made time with my favorite Uno card. Both wielded inordinate power in their respective games, but it was lonely at the top.

All the Hungry Hungry Hippos, because, apparently, they were also pretty thirsty.