Idaho City, Idaho about 40 years ago (holy sh*t!—40?) and I wrestled it into the trunk of my car and toted it back to Boise where my first apartment was. We've been dragging this old thing around ever since. Over the years it became the place I stored stuff that I wanted to keep, but didn't really need. I now have no place for it and it is up for sale at the BIG yard sale this weekend. (Don't tell me I can't sell it—it's too wonderful or nostalgic or something. I'm over it. It needs someone new to love it.) But first I needed to empty out all the stuff inside. Like about 10 really old Girl Scout uniforms, including sashes and badges and beanies and the whole 9 yards. (don't ask) And scrapbooks. Oh. My. Goodness. Not the new-fangled fancy, schmancy scrapbooks with cunning stickers and die-cut cuteness. These are the old manilla pages with black and white photos and sticky corners and crumbling telegrams and train tickets and pressed leaves and graduation announcements. That kind. And dolls. Most everything smelled a little musty, but looked OK, until I got to the dolls.
Then —the horror! I stood the Revlon doll upright and her eyes popped open. Eee-eee-eee! (cue Psycho music)
A bit later, following some Latin incantations and a good scrubbing the girls seemed more themselves and were enjoying a little nude sunbathing to kill any persistent spores.
I'm telling you, it was a strange day around here today.