Warm brownie sundaes and Strawberry Shortcake

Really feel like pigging out today. During the house buying process, I gave myself permission to have ice cream sandwiches and enormous cookies on days when I felt overwhelmed by mortgage decisions and the initialing of documents. It amused me how obviously I was stress-eating. Oh ha ha ha, I don’t really want a chocolate chip cookie, I’m just completely freaked out. Then I ate the cookie anyway.

Now that I’m not making any major life changes (this week. Stand by: I may change jobs again), I don’t have an excuse, but as soon as I finished my lunchtime veggie burger, I started wondering what else I can eat today. And I already had two chocolate chip cookies for my midmorning snack.

I’m exercising better impulse control in the internet shopping arena. I’m trying to sell (vintage) Strawberry Shortcakes and Cabbage Patch Kids on ebay. In researching the pricing of similar items, I’ve been swept back to my childhood, and the important role that Strawberry Shortcake and friends played. (I had an excessive number of Cabbage Patch Kids as well, but somehow, they made less of an imprint on my psyche.) My remaining Shortcake dolls no longer have their scents or their accessories, but I can still smell Blueberry Muffin’s rubbery hat. (My dolls do have their clothes, however. I am horrified at the child-pornesque listings of naked Strawberry Shortcakes. What happened to their outfits?)

I had a storytelling record that I played over and over in my bedroom, staring at the primary-colored flowers on the wallpaper. It was about someone’s birthday the Shortcake gang had forgotten. Strawberry Shortcake, in fact, exclaimed that she “plum forgot!” which is probably the first time I heard that expression.

While I’m completely ready and willing to let go of the dolls, I’m tempted by all the vintage Strawberry Shortcake lunchboxes and lamps and corkboards and TV trays and bedsheets. Even the New in Box dolls call to me. And the listings for dolls who still have their scents…

Published by Kari Neumeyer

Writer, editor, dog mom, ovarian cancer survivor

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