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After all
the kids are in bed, I usually stumble around (because of the 2 or so- hey, don’t
judge! glasses of wine I drink to help calm my nerves after being poked all
day) picking up stray toys. One thing that freaks the bejeezus out of me is
when I see a doll lying face down, or in some other contorted position, after
being thrown down by the kids. I have a *slightly* irrational fear that the doll, angered
with being tossed aside, will come to life and seek revenge.
As I’m sitting on the couch, or
lying in my bed, enjoying some TV in the peace and quiet, sipping my next glass
of liquid Xanax, I feel something touch my ankles. “Not tonight, Shannon, I’m
really tired.” In the soft glow of House Hunters, I see a silhouette of what
appears to be a small baby crawling towards me. “Wait, Mikey can’t crawl yet-
what the hell?” As it gets closer, I see its glowing red stabbity eyes, fixated
on my neck. Its teeth are sharp and pointy, and it is missing hair. “What’s
that you’re holding little creepy thing? My scissors? AAAHAHAHHAHHA!” And then
I’m lying in a congealing puddle of my own blood, all before those pathetic
turds on House Hunters decide that the last house sucks because it’s brand new gourmet
appliances are black instead of stainless steel.
So, when I
pick up toys, I always am sure to gently pick up the doll, straighten its hair
and clothes, and gingerly place it in a comfortable position, preferably facing
away from me. I don’t wish to anger the doll gods. Remember this the next time
you see Baby Alive….
You're Welcome.
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