Origins

March 22

Origins

The response to Blue Barb has been more than I ever expected.  Thank you all for your comments and emails, and thank you especially for the outpouring of concern and well-wishes.  Let me just say that, so far, B.B. has shown nothing but love and affection for the children so that, anyway, is a comfort.  McH and I figure we are safe because, really, even wielding a knife, how dangerous can a 10 inch doll be?  Only time will tell, of course.

I really should be finishing up the Bhagavad-Gida tonight, but questions about Blue Barb have been asked, and must be answered.  This is a good time since the children are sleeping and Barb is . . . well . . .

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As if she’s not creepy enough, the fact that her eyes don’t close even when she’s passed out drunk just gives me the willies.

Now, before I get to the questions that have already been asked, I must address the issue of where Blue Barb got liquor, since we are teetotalers (meaning we don’t drink at all).  I suspect it either came from her rum-running granny:*

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Or one of her best friends.  He is kind of the “It” guy on the scary toy circuit:                                                 clip_image004

It has been asked where Blue Barb came from.  This is an excellent question and could easily be the beginning of a deep, philosophical discussion about the origins of evil.  But let’s save that for another post, shall we?

So, to sum up, where do demonic dollies come from? 

Santa Claus.

At least, this one did.  No, no not the Santa that secretly shimmies his fat self down our skinny chimney and is funded solely by me, McH and Discover Card.  I speak instead of the Santa Clause that came to the ward (congregation) Christmas Party the year L~ was two.  Yes, nothing quite like going to a church Christmas party — at. the. church. — and having Santa give your child one of Satan’s minions.

O.K., well, he didn’t exactly give her Blue Barb.  He had his big sack ‘o toys and let each child reach into the sack and blindly pick something out.  At least, I think that’s how it went.  So, A~ got this cute, soft, floppy-eared, stuffed bunny.  And L~ got Blue Barb.

There was a collective sigh of relief heaved by the other children when they saw what toy they might have had to take home, but L~ was oblivious.  She was beaming.  You know, that whole “face that only a mother could love” phenomenon.  She had a new doll!!!!

All right, did that last paragraph set off your crap-o-meter?  It should have.  This was almost five and a half years ago people.  All I remember is that A~ got a cute bunny and L~ got this doll, and oh my word who was in charge of filling that toy sack and where did they find this doll?!?

So, how, then, did Blue Barb get her name?  At the tender age of two, L~ immediately noticed that her doll, so recently brought forth from the sack ‘o evil, was dressed in blue.  I guess even way back then she must have had some subconscious appreciation for alliteration, because she came up with the name Blue Barb all on her own, and hasn’t forgotten it from that day to this.

She loved that doll from the beginning, but has probably played with it a total of, like, seven times in the past five years.  Until the other day, of course, when I insulted it.  Now Blue Barb has a coveted spot on L~’s bed.  And a regular gig on my blog.

And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.

*Special thanks to Emilie (you know which Emilie you are — yes, there are two of you!) who brought to my attention the resemblance between Blue Barb and the Mrs. Beasley doll.

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