Alley of the Dolls

The Great House Clean-Up has hit a new plateau: The yard sale prep.

My kids went through their things and my daughter pulled out a once-favorite doll named Poupette that we bought in Paris.

“You don’t want to give her away, do you?” I asked.

My daughter, who had clearly crossed another threshold said, “Mom, dolls creep me out.”

I’d be depressed about all of the growing-up and loss-of-innocence stuff if I didn’t simply agree with her assessment—the almost-human visages, wan smiles, and glassy, vacant stares. “I know what you mean,” I said.

That’s why our house has never harbored one single clown.

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