These invisible buddies were with me through thick and thin, hanging around far longer into my adolescence than I probably should admit in a public forum.

Then, one day, the figments of my imagination were gone.

I’ve stumbled on real-life substitutes over the years—including Powergirl herself—but all of these seat-fillers have their own lives, meaning there are times when I compete with some other pretty serious demands for attention.

Now, however, a constant buddy has returned in the form of L.

She pals with me everywhere: to the coffee shop, to the bank, to the doctor and the store. She hangs with me at home, listening to me ramble on about bad grammar, crazy editors and Joe Girardi’s managerial blunders. She even keeps me company while I wash the dishes, fold laundry and do sit-ups on my office floor.

She listens. She thinks I’m funny. Sometimes, especially when I’m speaking in my Pee-Wee Herman voice, she laughs. I don’t even mind it when she cries.

Often when it’s just the two of us, I think back to that (scary and sort of lame) doll that came out in the 1990s titled, “My Buddy.” The doll—made for kids 12 and under—was designed to look like a little kid itself.

Forget that the doll was the inspiration for the movie, “Child’s Play.” The idea was to give children a “friend” to take everywhere. The (admittedly campy) jingle said it all:

“My buddy, my buddy: wherever I go, he goes.
My buddy, my buddy: I’ll teach him everything that I know
My buddy and me like to climb up a tree
My buddy and me: we’re the best friends that can be.
My buddy, my buddy, my buddy and me!”

Call me dorky (and yes, only a raging dork would remember the words to those commercials), but I’m proud to say that L is my buddy, and she is infinitely better than any stuffed baby or imaginary friend could ever be.