A few months ago my son had a birthday just before we moved out of town. A family member and his wife sent a gift to what they thought was our new address. However, their method for obtaining our new address was not the same method that most people use, which is asking. Most people just go, “Hey, what’s your new address?”
But not these two. These two printed out a whole bunch of real estate info from our area before we moved–just to see what we were looking at. Or something. I don’t know; it’s kind of hard to understand why, because many of the houses they printed out weren’t even houses we looked at. They just printed out random houses. So when we finally bought a house and told them about it, they threw out–apparently randomly–all of the pages but one. Which happened to not be the house we bought. Or even one we looked at. Then they sent a gift to that house.
That was the beginning of May, and as you may have noticed, this is not May. My husband finally asked them where they sent it and they replied that they sent it to our new address–to the street we don’t live on. Clearing up that part of the insanity, the gift was sent back to the return address where the family members also don’t live. Anymore. They moved to Idaho.
The box’s route: Oregon to Tehachapi, Tehachapi to Oregon, Oregon to Idaho, Idaho to Tehachapi. Just your standard shipping experience. When we finally got the box it was much the worse for wear, which was not a problem for the various hats contained inside, including what I’m pretty sure was a hat used in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory as part of an Oompa Loompa costume. Some of you may remember what cool taste this person has in hats; let me remind you of the last time we got hats from him:
So the hats were fine. However, they had also sent a gift for our daughter. It was surely once a neato vintage porcelain doll. That had been shipped to different states, like, four times.
Fortunately, my daughter is too young to care about dolls and wouldn’t have been traumatized by this even if she had seen it. My eight year old son, however, was completely freaked out.
When he first pulled it out of the box, he saw only this:
Horrified, he turned to my husband and said, “Dad, why would they send us a headless doll, huh? Why, Dad, why?”
My husband said, “Well, son, I’ve been telling them how naughty you’ve been lately and they didn’t think you deserved a real birthday present.”
And then my son said, “Don’t they love me anymore?”
And then my husband said, “Frankly, son, no they don’t.”
Maybe it didn’t happen exactly like that. My husband explained what had happened and my son was mollified with the cowboy hat in the box. It was I who dug through the rest of the box looking for broken glass and had to be creeped out by this:
As I continued to pull out pieces, I couldn’t help but think of that one Courtney Love song that was ubiquitous in 1996. You know, the Doll Parts song? It was all “doll eyes/doll arms/doll hearts/doll parts” and then bizarrely, “I wanna be the girl with the most cake.” But surely you remember.
I can’t tell you how relieved I am the there was no actual doll heart. Just a doll ear, doll fingers, and a doll neck spring.
So for those of you who have come to visit us on a Saturday or who plan to come up on Saturday, yes, we might take you on a cool hike. We might take you to the pool. We might take you to Oktoberfest or a craft fair or to the 4th of July hot-air balloon festival. But if you’re really super lucky and the stars have aligned and smiled upon you, you will be present next time we get a shipment of hats. Because that is a special kind of fun, the kind of fun that makes you laugh in the daylight but when night comes you get to be afraid that some kind of curse came in that box, too, and that doll is gonna come alive, climb over the side of the bed, and steal your eyeballs.