playing with dolls

i need to make this a quick post as my tummy must be fed - preferably at a nearby mcdonald's (i've been thinking about greasy cheeseburgers for days) - before i head off to bible study tonight.

it's been awhile since i've stayed at work later than my colleagues. i like writing when everyone's gone home and all i can hear are the janitors conversing in the hallways. i try eavesdropping, but my spanish has gotten so poor, i am only able to pick up things like, well, my name, when they're talking to me. fine, fine, my spanish stinks. and my french is going right down the drain with it. sad, because i feel i owe it to my 7-year-old french-loving self to maintain at least a beginner's level comprehension of french. as a child, i told my mother i wanted to live, eat, and breathe france. the posters in my room were of paris at night, the eiffel tower by day, and the riviera at dusk. of all my dolls, the "hot looks" doll mimi was my favorite. she was a writer who lived in paris, and she wore a pink beret with a silver star and a beautiful off-the-shoulder purple cashmere-esque long sweater over her purple stockings. she had gorgeous blonde curls and she was the most beautiful, by far, of all the dolls my sisters and i had put together. plus, she spoke beautiful french. or so i imagined. when we played with our dolls, mine always threw in lots of "oh la la"s. she was dramatic - as any good parisian writer should be - and liked to flip her hair over her shoulder.

talking about this kind of makes me wish we all still played with dolls. i'm embarrassed writing this at work, because i'm surrounded by all sorts of tech-savvy gadgets and instruction manuals and catalogs vying for my business. and here i am writing about how i miss playing with dolls.

i think what i miss most about it was it was a safe fantasy world. you could make up stories about princes from switzerland and how they would woo your dolls with the perfect words - and god knows what those words were - you didn't even have to make them up; you could have him say nothing, but both of your dolls had a clear understanding that what was said was perfect, so off they rode into the sunset, happily ever after. and then your mom would call for dinner and you wouldn't think on your dolls a moment later.

i don't really know where i'm going with this. and since my stomach is calling me back to reality, and kat will call any second to tell me she's at the sedgwick stop, i best be off. i wish i could write more on this. i was about to get lost in my thoughts again. i love that.