I wore my Tamagotchi to a wedding and accidentally killed it

Simagurutchi is the first Tamagotchi on my Tamagotchi Uni that I have lost. If I’m being honest, your loss won’t weigh heavily on me, but please know, you were a blast to bring to my friend’s wedding.

Mine and Simagurutchi’s union started out as a work assignment — Bandai Namco sent me a unit for review — and it quickly morphed into a bit. Determined to make the most out of my new Tamagotchi Uni, I decided that I would wear it as much as possible during an upcoming trip across the country to a friend’s wedding. Tamagotchi’s technology and style have evolved over the years and Uni is no exception. This particular model of the portable pet care toy comes with a rubber band so I can wear it as a watch with the world’s least sexy silhouette.

I wore this to the airport. I wore it to the airport. To my surprise, I didn’t even have to take it off for TSA. Wearing my Tamagotchi out in the public was what led to its death. I was riding in the very back of my friend’s 2008 Honda Odyssey when the watch let out a shrill beep. I was riding in the back of my friend’s 2008 Honda Odyssey when the watch let out a shrill beep.

After the silence, there was no way back. Because I am a person with attention issues, without that annoying beeping, which reminded me to feed the Tamagotchi when it was time, I could have easily dumped my Tamagotchi in a hole. The feedings were few and far between, and I didn’t realize it, but the well-being of my pet was slowly slipping away.

I wore the full Tamagotchi, clunky wristband and all, to my friend’s wedding. The Tamagotchi matched perfectly with my colorful floral dress and rainbow French-tips. For something so big, and let’s be honest, tacky-looking, it somehow kind of pulled the entire fit together with one big pop of pink. My wedding was ready. Simagurutchi was also ready for the wedding.

Tamagotchi, the watch I brought to this whimsical wedding didn’t make me feel stuffy. The wedding guests all went to a park nearby to take photographs after the ceremony. Both children and adults spun ribbons attached to wooden dowels. A group of friends made giant replicas of bride and groom that were placed over the event. The guests were delighted by a man in brass goggles playing a large music box and the stuffed monkey seated on top. While taking a group photo, the photographer told us all to stand windowed, “prom style.” Naturally, I stood Tamagotchi side out, as instructed by my supportive friends.

The ultimate icebreaker was my Tamagotchi. I was going to play a game with them that took advantage of the built-in pedometer and challenged you to dance mirror like a Wii Minigame. When I clicked on the screen I only saw a large ghost face with large lips, and one tear down its side. Simagurutchi had died.

I huddled with a friend and my partner, let out a collective “Oh nooooo,” and promptly got to work figuring out how to get a new pet. A friend remembered their Tamagotchi days and realized that there was a tiny button at the back of it.

It was the button that is the size of a pen tip. The only issue was that we were at a park and didn’t have a pen. We asked a lady in all black and thin angular sunglasses if she had a pen; she didn’t. We asked the man playing what appeared to be an enormous music box decorated with tiny dioramas of carnival-goers — he didn’t have one either. The search went on from person-to-person, but we couldn’t find anything until someone looked in their black leather fannypack. He didn’t have a pen, but he did have a fine-toothed comb. My friend used the tooth of the comb to push the Tamagotchi button as I held it.

We reset both the toy, and our lives in a matter of moments. In the California sunshine, I sat with friends and opened up a brand new egg. I took on an underdeveloped blob.