I’m Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

My 16-year-old daughter recently declared, “Thank goodness Mom bypassed the Pinterest Mom phase and went straight to the Crazy Old Lady phase.”

As I sit here, midday, in my lounge pants and bathrobe with tissues shoved up both sleeves, petting my tiny, spoiled lap dog, and grumbling about the state of the world, I just don’t understand what she is referring to.

Okay, FINE. It’s possible hanging out so much with my 99-year-old Great Aunt Ramona has hastened my transition to Crazy Old Lady more quickly than I’d realized. Especially when it comes to the random (and what Mr. Foxy might call “disturbing”) shit I’ve started to collect.

For instance, this past year, I bought an entire collection of handmade porcelain dolls at a local silent auction. (I don’t even like porcelain dolls.)

Okay. Lemme back up a bit. See, I seem to have developed a reputation of sorts amongst my friends for collecting odd items. It *might* be related to the antique ash-tray-turned-candy-dish that greets all our guests in the front room. Or the creepy, booze-filled clown head I keep by my writing desk.

So, when this beauty made her way to the auction floor, my friends who were running the auction immediately texted me.

It was love at first sight. Her smile! Her furry costume! Her crazy eyes! What’s not to love? I pictured myself carrying her with me everywhere in a sling—to the store, to my kids’ schools, out to eat. She was going to be my Pokémon.

By the time the silent auction came around, I was ready to take down anyone who might stand in the way between me and my girl. But then I saw her friends.

An entirely new plan formulated in my mind. A vision so beautiful, so grand, so delightful, I bid on each and every one of those dolls. It didn’t matter the cost—all the girls had to be mine.

Oddly enough, they weren’t getting too many bids, but still I hovered. Oh, did I hover. Until one woman bid on the Irish doll (third from the left) and mentioned that it looked just like her granddaughter. My cold, dead heart decided to let her have it. I may be a bit twisted, but I’m no monster, people.

I only had to go to war with some lady who wanted the baby dressed in yellow. That girl was central to my artistic vision so I fought to the death … well, I outbid her by $10. By the end of the auction, the Doll Gods blessed me with ten new beautiful children. I carefully carried my precious, irreplaceable cargo away in a garbage bag.

When I got home and showed Mr. Foxy my exquisite prizes, he stared blankly at me. When I described my vision for the girls, he walked out of the room. I guess he wasn’t as enamored with my planned art installation as I was. His lack of enthusiasm was a bit disappointing, but nevertheless, I persisted.

Oh, did I persist. BEHOLD, my girls in all their glory. Proudly on display in my front window.

It really is a sight to behold. I’m not sure just what part of the funeral display I love the best … the pageantry, the blood, the harp?

Okay, who am I kidding?! It’s my O.G. She’s my favorite, hands down. Would you look at her? I mean, LOOK. AT. HER.

This gorgeous exhibit blessed my home for two-and-a-half months last year. The only reason I took it down was to make way for my Christmas clown collection (again, a story for another day).

This year, Mr. Foxy begged asked me to limit my art exhibit to the month October. Let it just be a Halloween display, he pled. We bickered for a bit, and I accused him of trying to kneecap my creativity. When my neighbor chimed in with her support of Mr. Foxy’s plan, I just glared at her. NOBODY ASKED YOU, KAREN.

But Mr. Foxy and I have been married for over 20 years for good reason. He knows when to stand his ground and when to just let me have my way compromise. My artistic genius? Well, it’s been on display since September 1^st.

You’re welcome.