I stood at the head of the table, then opened the box and told them to sit down or they wouldn’t get anything. Their Moms took photos and I pulled out the dolls, hearing a collective gasp: “Barbies!” as I handed them each one. I never got to have a Barbie myself because they arrived after my time. My Mom only gave me a rotten Tiny Tears who peed out all the grape juice I gave her. “It’s like Christmas!” little Megan said. They loved their mermaids too, and I’d bought each of them a princess tote to hold all their treasures in since often the day after the gift giving, one of them, usually Molly, would come running up to me. “I lost all my toys, Aunt Terry. Can I have more?” “There are no more,” I have to tell her. But that day, all the girls clutched their Princess bags with their dolls, mermaids, and Snow White chapsticks, but shortly afterwards, 3 yr. old Kate began to cry. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I then noticed she had pulled off the rubber band holding the doll’s ponytail together and the Chinese manufacturer had only given the doll hair plugs around the top and sides of her rubber scalp, not in the middle. “My doll is bald!” Kate yelled. A few of the other girls yanked their dolls’ ponytail holders off and wailed, “Mine’s bald too!” “No, they’re just the type of doll who prefers ponytails!” I said. I felt bad, but my sister in law Bonnie saved the day. “Let’s have a fashion show with the dolls!” she said. So we all sat in a circle on the lawn. “What’s your doll’s name?” I asked Megan, who just graduated from kindergarten. “Tiffany!” she said. “Now presenting Tiffany,” I said, as Megan walked her across the dirt runway. “Tiffany is wearing a red organza evening gown with taffeta trim from New York City!” Bonnie announced. Megan looked proud till the tenuous stitching at the back of the gown ripped and out came Tiffany’s butt. “Her dress tore!” Megan cried. “Don’t worry; I’ll fix it!” I said and began pinning the doll’s dress up Santa Fe Literary Review
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