Thought for Food

Doll Envy

In a jam-packed, fun-filled weekend, feistyred and eec got to be kids again. Feistyred writes that they:

Played with All American Girl Dolls. When I was growing up, they didn’t hit the midwest until after I left high school….

WHAT?? What part of the Midwest are you talking about? They were all up in my hood (St. Paul, MN). All the Scandinavian bitches had Kirsten. All the wannabe rich bitches had Samantha. All the bookworm bitches had Molly.

And me? I had NONE. My dad was not into that kind of thing. Instead he gave me a huge toolbox full of Capsela, which I would use to create motorized cars and rafts for the few Barbies that entered our home despite his best efforts. (The only doll he ever bought me was Michael Jackson doll with a sparkly red military jacket and a glittering “magic” glove. Pretty fucking cool, actually.)

I was nonetheless OBSESSED with American Girl dolls. I was on their list, so they sent us catalogues, and I would carry them around for DAYS, compulsively reading every. single. word. in the 60-page tome of American Girlness.

More than a decade later, my sister was given not one but TWO American Girls — the next generation: Kit Kittredge & Josefina Montoya. (We like to have her say, in a Hispanic accent, “Hallo. My name is Josefina Montoya. You keeled my father. Prepare to die.”)

But I digress. The point is, I was deprived. And so I had to make it up by putting my few dolls to use making videos — a complete reenactment of The Princess Bride and a rap video based on Romeo and Juliet. (Totally rad, actually. Must try to get it on the Internet.)

You know what? I turned out alright, if a little weird.