Waiting on a Blythe

Monday, March 6th, 2017 – 10:30 p.m. Mountain time.

I ordered, not just one, but THREE Blythe factory dolls for my Birthday. My Birthday was February 22nd. This is March 6th. The little  Poupee’s still have not arrived. Apparently they are on a very slow boat from China, literally.

Some of my greatest treasures/finds/friendships/ loves in life have begun with dislike, or disdain, even loathing.

As with other things, so it was with Blythe. My initial reaction to her and the Blythe Adoring Fans I witnessed was, Why??? She makes no sense.  Her head is too big.  Her body is too small. Her mouth is not even formed really, just painted on. And why that particularly ghastly shade of pink lipstick? Can we say bepto-bismol?  Her face is way, way too shiny to be pretty.  And who changes their eye color when they blink? Ridiculous.

But then something happened.

I’m not sure exactly when or how, but somewhere in-between critiquing photos of Blythe with silly purple, or orange-colored hair and creating knitting patterns to sell in my Etsy shop for my far more sensible Les Cheries dolls, I was hooked. I tried to deny it at first but  all the pictures, and the cusomizations got to me.  Suddenly I realized that this was a doll that could truly be an individual. She didn’t just change clothes. Pretty much any doll could do that.

But She, this Blythe, she changed personality. Like Pinnochio, she had crossed-over, she had bridged the gap between fantasy and reality.  SHE had somehow become real.

She changed facial expression. She changed moods. AND she seemed to want to go all the places I wanted to go and do all the things that I wanted to do. She wanted to go hiking- ALL OVER THE WORLD- just like me. Only she could do it with such style, such pinache, such emotion!

There is only one problem.  I am not six or eight any more.  I am not even sixteen or eighteen. In fact, I just turned fifty-eight. Is that too early for a second childhood?

This problem might-could  be circumvented if I were of a different culteral origin. Alas, I have no Asians in my family tree. Irish, Scottish, French, German I have,  maybe even a Swiss or an Englishman, or a Spanish lady or two. But Asians I have none. My culteral heritage just isn’t particularly known for taking thier dolls to restaurants or on vacation with them just to get snapshots of their dollies in different notible locations.

How was I going to get over this culteral awkwardness? What was I going to say to those who stared the first time I pulled my Dolly out of my backpack for a quick (or not so quick) photo shoot?  Maybe I could lose a few pounds, (like maybe 50) and  I could wear skinny-skinny jeans and big dark glasses and a hello kitty hat and scarf and learn a few words of Japanese and flash a ‘peace’ sign, to throw people off so they wouldn’t realize I was a 58-year old anglo-saxon woman?

It probably wouldn’t work. I suppose if I can’t be saved by subterfuge any more than  by my ancestors, perhaps there is a saving grace in my children. My youngest son took “Little Steve” with him as  a battle buddy when he went to Iraq. Little Steve (of Cynaide and Happiness Comis Strips) is not exactly regular army issue, but Little Steve was over-there. And there are pictures to prove it. Heck, He Little Steve even has his own facebook page.

So now I wait.  I wait on my darling girls to arrive. It could be as long as another three weeks! I’m expecting a short haired brunette with bangs(and a very boyish figure), another girl with bobbed dark purple hair similar to the shade I used to dye my hair in my early 30’s, (much to my then teenage girls chagrin). And a girl with long pink hair and no bangs. I’m sure they are as nervous as I am. As well they should be. It took only one hair-cut from me before my oldest daughter began touting the phrase, “NEVER, let your mother cut your hair.”  And she was only six at the time.   And yet, I’m going to try and give these darling girls the FULL customized treatment. And not just makeup and hairstyle. We’re talkng plastic surgury and optometry!

I’ve always been a late bloomer. The Blythe craze may have already  come and gone in America.  Which is fine, Blythe and I don’t need to follow the crowd. We find our own way. But- just maybe, if you are like minded, and you have a desire to do all the fun things you used to do before life got oh-so-complicated and political and messed up with global warming and being unsure which restroom to use in a public venue – and you just want to escape it all and  learn a bit of magic and  how to make dolls come to life- …. I ‘d love to hear from you.  Just so you know- I only check my email about once a month- so don’t expect a quick response. I’m far too busy playing with dolls.


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