I Confess!

I have to confess to something. A crime. A horrible, terrible crime. One that is punishable not by the long arm of the law, but rather by the ire, fury, and distress of my six-year-old kiddo, which is worse than any jail term out there.

You see, I have committed dollicide. The victim? One Polly P. It was a crime of passion, a crime of opportunity. Polly frustrated me because she was always lying in the way of the vacuum cleaner. Plus, she always left her rubbery clothing, shoes, and accessories lying about. While they were not nearly as painful to step on as Legos, I quickly reached the end of my rope.

So, one day, last fall, I got rid of Polly. I wanted to erase all evidence of her existence, so I also threw out her clothes and other belongings. Just my luck, one of her severed legs surfaced, leading to the hope that she might be found, otherwise intact. A stretchy, squishy blob was found, and determined to be an item of clothing belonging to Polly. Hope sprung eternal (in the kiddo, at least), that Polly was OK.

Until that day, when the kiddo launched an extensive doll hunt in the hopes of determining Polly's fate. Polly was never found, but the kiddo lamented her loss, loudly, until a different toy captured her attention. I was frantic, wondering if my crime would be discovered. Wondering what price I would have to pay for ridding my life of the annoying Polly P.

While the kiddo still believes in my innocence, I am confessing because I fear that I will  again be tempted to eliminate another annoyance and inconvenience that has worked its way into our home: Polly's cousin, also named Polly. The coincidence is not lost on me. This is my chance to make this right, to let the innocent doll survive to be played with until the kiddo is no longer interested in her, and then to let her live out her remaining years with us in a peaceful existence devoid of threats to her person. But what about when I discover Polly lying in the middle of the floor or in the window, or when I find her cheap plastic clothing strewn about? Will I be able to control my urge to throw her in the trash, like I did with her predecessor?

For my kiddo's sake, I must try.

R.I.P. Polly Pocket #1
Good luck, Polly Pocket #2