So! Hey, thanks for the comments and compliments on that last [long-ass, somewhat maudlin] post. It's nice to try to flex the writing muscles every once in a while. Especially when they most often feel atrophied and possibly in need of some physical therapy to get them reasonably functional. *ahem.*
Anyway.
*Brisk Clap!*
Let's get back to business! Which, around here (in case you're new to The New Girl) means, of course doing what you do best: [tolerating my non-sense] Answering my queries.
This one, in the area of Lovies.
Behold, The Littlest New Girl with her future-lovey, and although she appears somewhat interested in these pictures, I have to tell you that we were ALL oblivious to the POWER and GOODNESS of of this little weird looking baby doll thingie:
I almost took it back because it looked a little creepy to me.
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What with those little blue eyes and the yarn braids.
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I couldn't find the receipt for it. So, we kept her. (The dolly, not the baby, OBV.)
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So, The Little Creepy Dolly was in TLNG's room and would just, you know, be here or there, whatever. It was in her crib for a while and then on the dresser. Then all of a sudden, one day, TLNG started to show a definite preference for this baby. At first, I just thought she was kidding me. But it turns out? She was serious.
Then, only That Dolly could sleep in her crib with her and Elmo (HA! You didn't forget him, did you?) And soon after that? She started talking and her first word? BABY. She still pronounces it DAY-DEE, but we know who she means. The critical turning point came on day after she'd gotten a boo-boo and it was to The Baby she turned for comfort and consolation. Crushing Elmo in the Lovey Smack-Down of the Century.
Anyway.
I had a pretty good thing going with this Dolly. In my determination to keep track [of this fucking thing so that it was never lost at bedtime] of Dolly, I encouraged TLNG to put her back into the crib after getting changed in the morning. Dolly would hang out in the crib all day and wait for the company at night. And then one day? It was like she realized The Baby was portable and could go places with her. I blame the babysitter who brought Dolly with her to The Little Sister's house for a drop-off.
Are you still here? All right, I'll get on with it already.
Here's what all the good lovin' has done to poor Dolly:
I know that she's still got all of her appendages (so far,) but she's filthy (even after repeated washings.)
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And let us take a good long look at her bangs [which make her look like she's from Jersey. In the 80's.]
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'Where's the other braid?' you might ask. And that, my friends, would be an EXCELLENT question.
And so, as close as I came to returning Dolly before I knew of her importance in the world, I am now officially TERRIFIED of losing her or leaving her somewhere. (She really gets around now, as we NEVER LEAVE HOME WITHOUT HER.) I was so terrified, in fact, that I went online and purchased ANOTHER creepy, little, Dolly just like her.
And thus, my question to you. How? If? Can I? Introduce the New Lovey? The Man and I [as effing USUAL] have a fundamental disagreement on this point. It is his opinion that we wait until this Lovey has completely Shit-the-Bed (my dad's charming term for when something FINALLY gives out for REAL) Ahem.
Anyway.
It is The Man's thought that we'll just give her the brand-new Lovey after her old one is no longer repairable or functional. To which I cry, 'CRAZY TALK!' as I am of the opinion that it will happen soon (if it has not already happened) that her love for this Dolly will move from being aimed at This Particular Model of Dolly to THIS PARTICULAR DOLLY. And once that happens, we're totally fucked in the replacement department (which is not at ALL as sexy as it might sound). I am thinking there needs to be a more immediate introduction, and perhaps, some alterations to The New Dolly (haircutting? gelling the bangs?) so that there can be some even-wear-alternating between Dollies. Some overlapping, if you will--a Rotation Situation.
I'm thinking we may already be too late. Your help can't come soon enough. My hands are raw from wringing.
Tell me.
For pete's sake.
What do I do with her:
TNG: 'What's that I smell?'
You: 'Um. That's a give-away, I think. That's what a give-away smells like.'