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Prince of the Apocalypse, ver. Remix
Sasha Blaze
A fun but not especially looterrific morning was had by Etienne, me, and a non-resin friend at the Topeka doll show. Etienne got enough admiration and cries of Oh, is that one of those--those--what do you call them? From Japan? Shirley, come and look at this doll! to turn his head for good. (Even though we were asked once whether he was Harry Potter, and twice whether he was a girl.) Only one person took down his jeans to see his (rather underwhelming, I admit) equipment, but she had special permission.

The haul: a vintage wine goblet and a pair of tan ribbed socks, Hound size; an Eliza Doolittle hat, Sia size; and an Indian buffet lunch, human size.

When we came home, there was a package waiting in the mailbox:

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goodness, I wonder if you ran into my mother. don't know if she went this time, she has in the past. very small woman with long white hair she keeps up in a barette, might have said, my daughter collects those...

I refuse to make the obligatory comment about the smallness of the world, but . . . hah, cliches are cliches for a reason.

As far as I know, I didn't run into anyone matching your mother's description--I talked to one small woman with long white pinned-up hair, but BJDs seemed to be new to her. (She was selling tickets for the helpers' donation drawing.) I would have tried harder, though, if I had known!

don't think that was her, she's not into helping...

and yeah, sometimes it is a small small world...

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