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I’ve always wondered where my sense of humor came from. I have the silliness of my mom (who no doubt got that from my grandfather), and my sarcastic nature, which I got from my dad. Put those two things together, and you have a really odd sense of humor. If my mother is correct, then I have a lot to be worried about.
My mother loves to buy dolls. Even when we were past the age to play with them, she still bought them–for her. She has a room in her house of dolls that sit there quietly while waiting to be played with. Eire for me since I didn’t play with dolls, but heaven for my daughter who just adores them.
One doll brought back a fond memory of me playing a jest on my parents. Arthur. If I was a child again, then this doll would be the one I would snuggle up with at night. He had programable hands, ears and feet. Just the perfect thing for a tinker (such as myself) could really get into. Read the rest of this entry