Here we are, snowed in. We have done everything there is to do in a 850 plus or minus sq. ft. apartment with a 7 month old baby and a beagle who wants no part of the outside world. Including watching a semi-cute Adam Sandler movie on free-per-view, which we rarely take advantage of.
After exhausting our Baby Einstein options, Mr. Fits decided to entertain the baby with his “left foot-as-puppet” act, and though it made the little man laugh, it was pretty sad. So, I used that as an excuse to jump on the computer and try to find a set of puppets I could order STAT. While in real life I tend to deliberate purchases to an annoying degree, in the world of wide web, I am an impulse shopper. But impulse quickly led to repulse when my Amazon search yielded this.
My eyes! My eyes! What the fuck is that? Those puppets are the stuff nightmares are made of. First of all, they look a freak show version of the family from Davy & Goliath, minus the dog, plus Verne Troyer. Second, the manufacturer's note says: “Realistically-detailed families are a perfect way to explore cultural differences and promote understanding, language development and situational thinking.” Let's break this down. “Realistically-detailed families”: are you kidding me? They don't have hands. Or arms! Dad's wearing a dress! Mom and daughter are the same age. I am so confused! My eyes!
Okay...next, “a perfect way to explore cultural differences”...the name of the toy is “White Family Puppets” for crying out loud! So I decided to search Amazon and see just who these white folks are exploring their cultural differences with--and wouldn't you know it? Couldn't find another family for them to chill with by the same company. I did however find a Black Family of 4 Big Mouth Hand Puppets and a Family of Four Hispanics. What?! What world is this? This is the most inexplicable, freakiest thing I've ever seen. Correction. Was the freakiest thing I'd ever seen until...
Fast forward to me flipping through the Sunday paper (the part that gets delivered on Saturday). I came across the coupon circular and gave it a glance. And there it was. Tucked between the advert for the dazzling Jeweled Elephant Salt & Pepper Set ($29.90) and the gorgeous, soothing Musical Lighthouse Candle ($12.95, batteries not included--um, a candle that needs batteries?), was something truly Amazing. Amazing Grace, that is. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to “May God Bless You, Little Grace.” She's 15 and a half inches of adorable vinyl-skinned preemie perfection! She arrives in a pink cap and tiny disposable diaper, as if to say, “if you'd like to change her diaper, why, we won't tell a soul.” Can someone check me on this? Who is this doll for? I understand and accept that people collect dolls of this nature, but why, dear god, WHY is it so important that she's lifelike? That's downright scary. And why is she a preemie? What need is teeny, tiny Gracie fulfilling in someone's life that can be met with five easy payments of $25.99 plus shipping and service charges? Forget about holding Grace, I need someone to hold me. I'm so deeply disturbed!
And the hard sell doesn't help matters, what with phrases like “Imagine the hours you'll spend cuddling and loving this lifelike collectible preemie doll!” and “Grace's RealTouch vinyl skin holds all the folds and creases. And she even wears a hospital bracelet on her tiny ankle.” Exactly who is this pitch going out to? Who at home is now saying, Finally! A doll I can relate to, love and raise as my own? Well, bless her little heart. Because, make no mistake, “This doll is not a toy; she is a fine collectible to be enjoyed by adult collectors.” No offense, but this ad has preemie fetishist written all over it. I don't know whether to rip it to pieces and burn it or frame it and put it up next to my Anne Geddes poster.
Needless to say, I didn't order any puppets. Let's just hope the baby continues to be entertained by Family of Big Assed Land's End Gray Slippers.
