Pink Asparagus

Yesterday I spent my Labor Day holiday laboring. Not in the giving birth sense, but in the doing actual work around the house sense. I was re-organizing some storage in the basement and found MY Cabbage Patch Doll. I don’t know her name. I’m not sure I ever did. I have no idea what the white shit is on her face either. I think it’s a mar in the plastic that conventional soap and water couldn’t remove. But that was in the 80s! I’ll have to take a magic eraser to her face. In the same box was my Raggedy Ann, or as Audrey calls her “ragged N”.

Audrey wanted to play with my dolly, and I let her for 3.2 seconds. After that I was sure she’s lose her shoes or hair bows or gah, I don’t even know what I feared for her. She hasn’t survived this long intact to be loved on by a three-year old. Thankfully Audrey wanted nothing to do with Ann. Her yarn hair and threadbare dress can’t handle too much love.

My aunts stood in line and paid some ungodly amount of money getting Cabbage Patch dolls for my female cousins and me. I loved her. I still love that they took the extra effort to get a redheaded one for me.

I was the only redhead I knew growing up. And except for my immediate family, I was the only one I knew with freckles. Granted my elementary school was 98% Hispanic. Having red hair is special. But when you’re mercilessly teased for it and your freckles, it feels more like a curse. I hope Audrey never hates her beautiful hair and freckles. Fortunately, I see lots of cutie pie gingers running around these days.

(l-r) Audrey’s Raggedy Ann c. 2006, Audrey’s Cabbage Patch Doll c. Sunday,
my Cabbage Patch Doll c. 1983, my Raggedy Ann c. 1974

It’s fun for me that Audrey is enjoying the same toys I remember from my childhood.