It’s spring! It’s spring! It’s spring!!!
This morning, a subtle threshold was crossed.
I walked outside this morning to get something out of my car. In my bare feet and wearing only a pale yellow t-shirt and my flowered boxer shorts which look like actual clothing. And I did not die of frostbite, even though it was nary 5:30 a.m.
It was 50 degrees outside, people.
This is a turning point. My brain is rolling over into slacker mode. Something about nice weather does this to me. I think it’s the freedom of being able to anything you feel like without fear of dying due to the extremities. Oh sure, not a lot of people die from the frigid ass-biting cold weather, but it can happen. Midwesterners hold a lot of pride in that fact. Look at us, not freezing to death! I think they’re secretly certain that the Floridians and other Southern folk would possibly run naked into a tempestuous icy flowage or possibly fall asleep in a snow bank and get eviscerated by a snowplough. I’m certain we’re not giving y’all enough credit though. It’s not me. It’s them.
But as soon as the weather goes soft and mellow, my good little ant persona takes a hike and it’s the hedonistic grasshopper all over the place. My clothing gets more casual. I stop wearing socks. My hippy sandals come out of the closet. I start going to work with wet ‘just out of the shower’ hair. I stop planning for anything. Need to go outside? Just go! Don’t worry about a coat! Don’t worry about shoes! If you slip and hit your head, getting amnesia and forget what a house is, you won’t freeze to death! Not for months and months! Whoooooo!
Anyway, it’s all good. That’s what I’m saying.
My mom has this nun doll that she’s had since she was a little girl. I remember it distinctly, as it always sat on her dresser, next to her perfume bottles and jewelry box. Because she’d spray her perfume there, the doll took on a strange conglomeration of scents, flowery and dusty and somehow ancient. It wasn’t a doll that we could play with because she was so old, but she wasn’t really a doll that we WANTED to play with either. Despite the fact that she was in rather good condition, she had no legs. And apparently, her head was somehow supposed to be attached to her legs, through her body via a string or rubber band which had long ago disintegrated, so if you picked her up, her head either tilted at a horrible angle or fell off completely.
It was very dang freaky.
And her eyes were the kind that blinked, so you’d pick her up and her head would snap back and her eyes would fly open, as though shocked by such rough treatment, before falling completely backwards and then dropping, usually behind the dresser.
I used to call her Sister Marie Antoinette. I was pretty clever for an 8 year old, if I do say so myself.
I was slightly fascinated by her, though because she was very ornate. Her dress had numerous pleats and folds and there was a delicate little black rosary around her waist. But she still freaked me out.
So I’ve been watching for another version of this doll to no avail. There are heap loads of nun dolls out there, but none (nun’ oops’ I’m so very bad) that looked like Sister Marie Antoinette.
I found one today. I sent Mo the link while I was on the phone and when she saw the picture, she said “Oh my god!” It was Sister Marie Antoinette’s twin. But neither of us was certain about what looked to be a plastic detail around the neck and habit. I bid on it a few times, but then figured that I’d better clarify before getting into serious cash for the doll. Thus, I called Mom and asked her about her nun.
It was a strange convo, though:
Weetabix: Hi Mom… you know that nun doll you have?
Weetabix’s Mom: Which one?
Weetabix: The nun doll. The doll which looks like a nun.
Weetabix’s Mom: I know Weetabix… which ONE???
Weetabix: You have more than one nun doll?
Weetabix’s Mom: Yes, I bought another one at a second hand store.
Weetabix: Oh, does it look like your doll?
Weetabix’s Mom: No, not really, I thought I could use her legs, though.
Weetabix: You have a parts nun? You bought a nun for parts?
Weetabix’s Mom: Yeah….?
Weetabix: Oh that’s so sick and twisted. Does your doll have a plastic wimple?
Weetabix’s Mom: A plastic what? Their bodies are plastic… but they’re not anatomically correct, I don’t think it would be right to give a nun doll nipples.
Weetabix:Not Nipple… wimple… the white thing around her neck.
Weetabix’s Mom: Her hat is plasticy… wait, which nun doll? The one without legs? Or the one that looks like a hooker in a nun outfit?
Weetabix: Is that the parts nun?
Weetabix’s Mom: She’s a whole nun, Weetabix…. wait… I found a nun leg.
Weetabix: Ack.. It’s like a serial killer of nuns is living at your house.
Weetabix’s Mom: (gasp) Don’t you even say such things, Weetabix!
Weetabix: Oh Mom.
Weetabix’s Mom: Here’s another leg….oh that can’t be right… I have two left legs.
Weetabix: How many nuns are you hiding in that closet?
Weetabix’s Mom: It doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a nun leg. It might be another leg.
Weetabix: Perhaps a bishop?
Weetabix’s Mom: Oh don’t be silly. I don’t have any bishop dolls.
Anyway, as it turns out, she doesn’t want a third nun doll, even one which is exactly the spitting image of Sister Marie Antoinette, because her doll is special and another doll is just another doll. Thus, I didn’t continue bidding on Sister Heada Tached (I think I’ve lost the nun naming talent I once had).
Besides, I had this weird image of the doll, legs missing, on cement blocks parked in front of my mother’s house.
