An accident has further maimed the one-armed Dawn doll from my childhood (I wrote about her last year in this post). I discovered Dawn's remarkable misfortune when playing Barbies with my daughter the other day. We were changing the many Barbies into new Playboy Mansion-inspired attire (has anyone ever found an outfit for Barbie that wasn't a Baby Phat-esque disaster?) when I noticed that Dawn's mini seemed glued to her behind. Attempting to disengage it, I saw that glue had dried in her hip sockets, and then--crack--Dawn split clear in half. It was truly macabre, a Boxing Helena moment.
"Why is Dawn covered in glue?" I asked Violet. She started to cry. "I don't know," she said unconvincingly, fear and guilt on her face.
I decided to drop that line of questioning. But it didn't seem right to throw Dawn out in her hour of need. After all, my grandmother had saved her in a drawer for decades. I tried duct tape, thinking a jaunty silver belt might hold her together. It did not.
"What should I do?" I asked Violet.
"I think you should keep her in your room," she said. "I don't want anything else to happen to her." So that is where Dawn is. Lying in my thong-less underwear drawer. I did not think I should photograph her for this post. It seems violent and indecent, somehow.