Love Me, Love My Dolly

Allow me to recommend that you keep a handkerchief handy. The tale you are about to begin is a very sad one. But it wasn't always sad. No, not always sad...

This story begins long ago on a cheerful day on which my dear Grandmother presented me with a doll made out of a mop head.

I never gave her a name, or if I did I have long forgotten it. Simple though she was, I thought her rather cute. I brought her home and fondly set her upon the top of my bed post where she lived mostly undisturbed for a very long time.

Undisturbed, indeed, until a few short months ago when I decided that she could be set to be better advantage if I gave her a summer resting place upon the top of the wood stove in my room. This was, I think, the first time my darling Brothers and sweet Sister deigned to notice her existence. Alas! She & I have both lived to rue that day!

My lovely brothers and sisters quickly concluded that my poor simple, innocent doll "looked silly" sitting down. Their words, hastily spoken, were even more hastily acted upon. When I was out of the room they "improved" her appearance by standing her up. The "improvement" was more than dubious since she has no legs to stand upon...

The weeks that followed were a trial to all concerned. I never entered my room without sitting my sweet doll back down comfortably and gracefully upon the stove top. I never left the room without a brother or, mayhap, a sister setting my poor doll awkwardly back up. I reentered my room always to set my sweet doll back down comfortably and.... I think you understand. Already, I know your tears are forming! Poor! Why, she was more than "poor"--she was altogether abused!

The worst was yet to be. No sooner had my cruel siblings realized I would not stand for such abuse, and that their every attempt upon my doll's comfort was thus foiled, then they resorted to stronger methods of making their spite known!

I arrived home one day and noticed to my surprise that my lovable doll was sitting comfortably and gracefully just as I'd left her. Pleasantly going to give her cheer, I discovered....

Now, yes, now! your tears may fall unchecked. I cannot always be on guard, and though my lovely doll now always sits most gracefully...it seems she'll never rest again. No matter how frequently I extract the sword from her face, her arms, her heart, or from underneath her, it reappears again. How can I protect her against such malevolence as this? And where now may we hope for comfort, my dolly & I?