I am about to tell you a story of horrific proportions . It is about a doll that I had in my childhood with lovely long auburn hair. She was a walking doll called Patti Playpal. She was about 3 feet tall and as a “playpal” she walked. Well, her legs moved back and forth if you held her by the hand and led her around.

I did not walk her around as much as I loved to brush her long hair. Inside the doll was a mechanism of metal gears that allowed her to walk and it was tethered to something inside her head that had a spring action to it, because of this whenever her head pulled back, the spring would pull back forward.

This is where the story gets very scary and almost horrifying. I often think about this and I am shocked that I ever became a mother because the tale I’m about to relay not only happened once but many many times and my reaction was the same each time. Even though I would tell myself that “this time” I would be careful as to never let it happen again, it did. Funny how even at a young age we try to rationalize and change. Anyway, take a deep breath, here it goes.

I would sit on the side of my bed and Patti Playpal would be standing on the floor. As I began to brush her hair, I would hold her steady with my other arm around her chest. Inevitably my arm would end up around her neck and if the brush got tangled in her hair it would pull her head backwards. The mechanism inside would cause her head snapped back forward, in doing so it would catch the skin of my forearm between her neck and chest and pinch the living daylight out of me. My reaction is enough to write a psycho story about.

As soon as my forearm was caught in the plastic part between her neck and chest. I would throw poor little Patti down on the floor and stomp on her, then pick her up and bang her head on the floor! Oh my gosh, shockingly I think I really wanted to destroy her..

After I nursed my wound for a few days or weeks, I would forgive her and try to brush her hair being oh so careful. But, no, it would happen again, and again, the same horror story would repeat itself. There must have been a time I decided to never brush her hair again… it was the only way to rid myself of these evil actions. Thinking back it was probably good I only had sons and never little girls with long hair. It is true what they say, God knows exactly what we need.

Thankful or hopefully Patti went to a more loving home. For a more loving childhood toy story see below.

https://emyloomwordswovenwithinmyheart.com/2020/09/05/friends-to-the-end/

The true friend, worn, dirty, in need of repair but loved.

Trish Bee, December 17, 2022