The catalog came,
I didn’t throw it away.
Becca is smitten.
I know it’s a crazy empire of merchandising, but I decided not to fight it. I had my first American Girl doll when I was about nine years old, when it was just a mail-order catalog and not an insane phenomenon. I had the original Molly and Samantha, way back when. Good lord, I even had one of the fancy Samantha dresses for myself, which I wore in a family portrait with my brother and my dad. It is all big poofy sleeves and pink stripes and nine-year-old awkwardness, wrapped in a late-eighties bundle. I am just so grateful that I don’t have the photo in my possession right now.
Regardless, the holidays are coming and I know the grandparents are chomping at the bit for gift ideas. I think I know a certain grandfather who would be positively tickled to get this one for Rebecca. Hey, there are worse things. I’d take this over those awful Bratz dolls any day of the week.