As some of you may remember–I’ve written many posts about my childhood dolls because I was just crazy about them and even gave a prize if someone could name them all. Yesiree–I was totally in love with dolls. In fact, I used to believe that as soon as I fell asleep at night, they all came to life and played in my room with the other toys.
One year I saw a commercial for a doll that was really, really…um…not very pretty. Actually she was positively scary looking. But in my nine year old mind I was convinced that no one on earth would ever buy her or ask for her for Christmas–and that made me very sad–indeed.
The idea of her sitting for a million years in a toy store with no one ever taking her home made me sick. I thought about it and thought about it and came to the conclusion that the only Christian thing to do was to ask for her for my own birthday so she could finally have a home and I could give the poor thing some love. It would change her life–I knew it!
My mom asked me over and over if I was sure she was the doll I really wanted–and over and over I said, “She’s the only one I want.”
So Little Miss No Name is exactly what I got. I loved her and changed her clothes and put her hair in pony tails but no matter how hard I tried, she still made that same sad face. I decided that giving her a good home was the least I could do even if it never really made her happy.
I’ve kept her all these years and never had a minute of regret over choosing the poor little wretched thing. That is, until my brother’s mean old friend told me that my sweet, humanitarian-service-project-of-a-doll looked exactly…
How do these things happen?
Before you judge me too harshly, check out the most emotionally manipulative commercial on the planet.