While I was responding to a doodling challenge (#notaeuphemism) regarding toys from childhood, it got me to thinking about JUST HOW MANY photos there are of me clutching a doll or a bear or a soldier guy. I thought I'd trot out some of these for yuks.
Remember that part plush toy/ part hard plastic face I asked you to note? Here it is again in bear format, but now the hard plastic has branched out into ears. I don't why any manufacturer thought that a big crybaby face would be something kids would love. It's just dying for a mean parent to say, "THIS IS WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE WHEN YOU CRY! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANNA LOOK LIKE? HUNH? HUNH?" As you can see by my body language in this photo, I'm not so sure about Buzzkill Bear, especially when you stop and consider his stained paw. I don't even wanna know. What happened in the 100 Acre Wood STAYS in the 100 Acre Wood...
Note: I'm clutching a small guy. Don't know what type of small guy, as my teeny meaty paw is suffocating his head, thus all identifying characteristics. This is what happens to a child forced to deal with toys that are part plush/ part hard plastic face/ creepily soiled: They take it out on the smaller toys!
Remember how in the last photo I was clutching a guy in my mitt? It wasn't that long ago; PLEASE try to recall!
Anyway, here I am again, wearing a nightgown, holding myself up by a ratty old hassock, and in my hand either a little guy or a hand grenade. If it's not a hand grenade, then it's a shadow CAST by my hand. But I'm pretty sure it's a hand grenade...
I knew you'd want more than what you'd been getting so far, so now instead of holding ONE doll, I've got TWO. The one in my right hand: a TROLL doll, most likely the one whose tale rose to the rank of urban legend (i.e. lost it in a mill; saw it in the mill window years and years later: WAS IT THE SAME TROLL DOLL???). In my left doll is a doll that is probably a cheap celluloid dolly that meant nothing to me. ("She meant NOTHING to me! I swear! It's always been you! I love YOU! I didn't love HER!"
Above: Me on the first day of Kindergarten and in my hand THE DOLL THAT BROKE MY HEART when her PULLSTRING BROKE on the VERY FIRST TUG.
She didn't even have anything important to say. She could have used her dying breath to good effect but she probably just said "HI" when she should have been saying "Goodbye... ForEVER." Did anyone take the malfunctioning doll back and get me a new one? Nope. Ya get whatcha get and that's whatcha get.
SECRETS REVEALED: After she went mute, I could get her to SQUAWK by bashing her back on hard surfaces.
(Shown with Annabelle Cornelia Sarah Barleycorn. That's a lotta corn for one doll. But she's enough doll to handle it.)
Above: Me in my freshman year at RISD (Rhode Island School of Design). We had to make tents for our 3D design class. I made a pup tent in the shape of a puppy. You had to lift its back leg to enter the tent... Chew on that one for awhile and allow the hilarity to wassssh ovvver youuuu...
This is from the summer after sophomore year in college. The summer I joined a cult that took young women with reasonably-shaped human heads and turned those reasonably-shaped human heads into black squares with white features. As I've always been something of a skeptic, their brainwashing ways did not affect my reasonably-shaped head one whit.
Our bears had been kidnapped by a team of male cult members, and before they returned the bears to us, they'd bound and gagged them.
I still contend that the prank would have been FAR FUNNIER if the bears' toes had been hacked off and sent to us at a rate of one per week until we met with the male cult members' demands. But nobody wants to go along with my funnier ideas. They always want to play it "safe". Spoilsports.
OK, that's all for now. Hope you've enjoyed this little trip down memory lane and have enjoyed seeing me at various points in my life's trajectory.
(And by "life's trajectory" what I mean is: I SHOWED YOU MY MULLET.)