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.