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Prince of the Apocalypse, ver. Remix
Sasha Blaze
sedens
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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Occasionally my impulse buying produces really, really good (if unexpected) results. I don't know what made me want this wig, but . . . I am very glad I got it.

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