Maggie-Goats

This is Maggie-Goats. I got her for Christmas when I was 2, and named her from a nursery rhyme that I misunderstood. (Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy...)

Ever since I stopped playing with her I have been saving her, thinking that one day when I had a girl, I could pass her on. Ever since we got married, Chet has been trying to get rid of her. I actually thought he had because I hadn't seen her for over a year.

But the other day, I found her stuffed in a box in the corner of our attic. Kinda freaked me out. Maggie Goats is about the size of a 6 month old and for a second I thought a real baby was lying there in that box.

Nope. Just Maggie Goats. And for the first time her true hideousness was revealed to me - somehow, for all these years I have missed the eyes that won't stay open or closed, the tracheotomy neck, nasty hair, not to mention the general awfulness that is this doll.

I wonder how I ever thought it would be a good idea for a child to play with this doll.

Of course there is nothing I like better than pranking my husband. He tends to be very jumpy. (All the more reason.) So I put Maggie Goats under the covers on his side of the bed, then asked if he wanted to snuggle. Ha! Gotcha! Soooo worth it.

He got me back the next day though, when he buckled her into Deedo's car seat. Despite her obvious hideousness, I really did think she was a real child, at least for a second. And that only adds to the creepy factor.

So here's one last hoorah for Maggie Goats - once loved doll, now creepy prank toy. Off to the dumpster tomorrow.

(At least that's what I'm telling Chet.)