Call this a little bit of spring cleaning, a few weeks ahead of time. I’ve been collecting these girls for years. It’s time to let them go.
2006 was not a good year, but the years have been MUCH harder to the poor girl on the right. Our friend in yellow looks more like a jowelly Alfred Hitchcock making a walk-on cameo in a tense psychodrama version of “Muppet Babies” than any sort of bonny wee lass…but at least she didn’t suffer the cruel fate of the poor old crone on the right, who shows what years of hard living, chain smoking and too much sun could do to Patricia Routledge.
And then…they kept coming. I saw them leering at me from every shelf, macrocephalic little cabbages limply dragging bags of flowers. Their dresses covered in blisters, or sucker-marks from some horrid octopus hellbent on cleansing DIY ceramics of a terrible blight. This one seems to know something of her fate, of her destiny, and carries her knowledge with a world-weary candor. Or, she got too near the radiator and is starting to rise. One of the two.
This one lost her flowers…but not her pain. Or the weird sucker marks. Poor haggard thing. Would you just pull that bonnet down a little bit? It’s big enough. Yes, completely over the head. That’s good. Now, into the pot with you.
“Then there was a beautiful, beautiful light, and I don’t remember anything after that…have you seen my mommy or daddy? Please? I’m so alone.”
“I brought you this flower…it’s a magical flower that will keep you from running away…like all the others…
Whew. I’m glad to get that off my chest. Some of those things had been staring at me for five years! Thank god. Next week, something stupid with a pig, or a weird skeleton horse. No more big-headed staring little cabbage-headed damsels, I’ve had enough of those for the decade.
Blue-grey flower girl and staring, staring eyes flower girl from Goodwill on 183 and Metric; the others predate any organized record-keeping on my part. Wow. I’ve got to clean house more.