Exactly The Right Mother
In 1986, I lusted after a doll named Cricket. I begged, I pleaded, I whined. This doll was the shit. You put a cassette tape into her back, and she would talk. Her lips moved, her eyes rolled around in their sockets and her face was permanently cheery. I know now that my parents debated, agonized over the purchase of the doll as it was a hefty $98 and by 1986 standards that was certainly an investment for a child's toy. Roll forward to Christmas 1986 and I unwrap THE gift, a brand-spanking new Cricket doll of my very own, dressed in a striped sweater. She was perfection, until she was out of the box. Once the cassette tape clicked into her back and she began to talk, 5 year old me realized, in a fraction of a second, that she was terrifying. She was creepy as hell and I instantly thought that Santa must not know me after all. Or maybe he was hammered. My parents beamed at me, thrilled to see me finally holding Cricket on my lap. Of course, I can't recall my exact reaction but