I think it would be more interesting to ask us to select just one thing, and write a little story about why they would choose it. So here's mine.
My parents had quite a lot of brass knick-knacks around the house. I know this because it became one of my domestic tasks to polish them every week, with nice-smelling Brasso, for a shilling. When I was about six (probably before the polishing regime started), they decided that my sister and I should be given custody, which was presented to us as ownership, of one each of these. On offer was a fierce Bengal tiger, or this frog. My sister, being the elder, was given first dibs. Naturally, she picked the tiger.
I was downcast. No, I was devastated. I had coveted, craved for that tiger. I think I assaulted her, I'm certain I cried with envy and disappointment. Of course, when you're six, a week of despondency is a lifetime; I certanly don't hold the grudge any more. In fact, now, when I look at and fondle this fellow, with his plump body and his blind eye, I reckon I got the best deal.