I have come to the conclusion that I’m mildly doll-phobic (is it possible to have a mild phobia?).
I seem to remember not even liking dolls when I was of the age to be playing with them.
I found a box of dolls in my closet that I’ve had since childhood (they were wrapped in an issue of the Los Angeles Times circa 1979), and when I called my older sister to find out what they were and where they’d come from, she said she didn’t remember but thought they were probably valuable.
Since my sister has the worst financial sense in the world (but if I just threw them out she’d turn out to be right and they’d be worth a fortune), I decided to get them appraised.
As I stood there in the doll shop (grossest toy? Stuffed rabbits covered with real rabbit fur. Eeeeewww), looking around and waiting for the appraiser to finish the longest phone call in the world, I felt my skin start to crawl.
It’s the eyes. Those horrible little eyes that seem to get stuck halfway open in some sort of demonic wink (“Ha ha! Just you wait! We’ll kill you in your sleep!”).
Gah. I’m creeping myself out just typing about it.
Anyways, my dolls were gas station giveaways from the 1970’s (buy a tank of gas, get a doll), and, according to the appraiser, aren’t worth anything.
“Aren’t worth anything as in try to get a buck for them on eBay, or aren’t worth anything as in give them to my friend’s kid to destroy?” I asked.
“Give them to your friend’s kid. I doubt they’ll ever be worth anything.”
After the kid breaks them I’ll have the immense satisfaction of knowing that those creepy little heads are going to end up in a landfill.
On a lighter note, at a get-together last night I discovered a pretty decent sulfite-free red wine (most sulfite-free reds taste like ass, but it’s the sulfites that give me the terrible red wine headache). It’s called “Our Daily Red” and since I love red wine but hate the headache, I’m going to buy a case of it.