Monday, August 24, 2009
No head, nice cozy outfit...
I gave a little more thought as to why my 6-year old daugher might prefer this facsimile of a mother. I say facsimile because from a distance, and staying say, hip level, this mannequin could pass for me. In fact I have the outfit. But it was more, because I was standing right there, in a version of the outfit, with my messy hair, frezied expression as we were running late as always, (translate:no time for toy store) and even though she had no head, or feet, her hands were very smooth, youthful. Thing One found a comfort holding her. She even spoke to her and asked if she'd like to come home. She spoke to her arm. It was clear she had no head. But it was important for A to not acknowledge this because to her, she had found the perfect replacement. She would never talk, clearly didn't have witchy hands because she had no feet, never move, aka, always available, so it was kind of heartbreaking when I had to pull A off the thing. Shoppers of course stared, the help thought we were stealing her, there was a small scene. But honestly, nothing I am not used to.
"You can just buy the outfit!" This coming front a rather snooty sales clerk; how can you be snooty and work at the Gap?!
"For you information, little Miss Missy, I have the damn outfit. She likes the wooden display mom."
Snooty and a co-worker shared a look of horror. "MOM! AS IF! L-O-L!" As in, this outfit is for young people you old bitch.
"Can't we take her, pleeeeeeze, Mom, pleeeez?" Thing One was crying now, holding on for dear life to the wooden mom as I tried to pry her away, and then wooden mom fell over. She crashed to the ground and all I kept thinking was, thank god she didn't have a head. A rolling head is not an image for a 6-year old. But her arm fell off and A screamed.
"Mom!" And she ran to her like a nurse attending a dying patient.
The shop girls were simply frozen. So I jumped into action, found the arm rolling under a dusty skirt rack, and slammed the arm back on the wooden mom. I propped her back up, adjusted her clothing. Thing One finally stopped crying, and looked at me with gratitude. Maybe I wasn't so bad after all.
"We'll be sure to visit her next time we come."
My daughter seemed satisfied with this.
"Okay. Can we go to the toy store now?"