As much as dolls are treasured by little girls everywhere, those girls never stop to think we might like to have a birthday party of our own. Sure, we’re invited to tea parties, the occasional sleep-over and if we’re really lucky, family outings. Unfortunately, we’re just as likely to be left behind at a friend’s house, or a restaurant; making us unwanted guests who sit by the front door, waiting to be claimed. Of course, since I’m an unwanted guest in my own home, this is nothing new for me.
Today’s birthday celebration came as a surprise. The day before, the little blond girl had taken me outside to play – only because she doesn’t care if I get dirty, broken or lost. I was a little damp from my “swimming lessons”, which had taken place in a dirty rain bucket. Consequently, I had been left sitting on a table at the front entrance so I could dry out.
All day long, the mom was out shopping, while the girl, her brother and dad cleaned and tidied every possible space. I’m not sure why they bothered, because once they were done, they proceeded to tape scrap bits of pink and purple paper to the ceiling, draping it to conceal the stark white paint. To this, they added pink and purple balloons, along with carnations dyed in the same pastel hues. Strange, that they would clean, only to clutter it all up again. To be perfectly honest, it looked like a cupcake exploded on the main floor of the house, and now the rooms were dripping with pastel cherry and blueberry icing.
“Erika, would you get this ugly doll out of here?” The dad was wandering around the house, picking up this, straightening that and removing anything remotely offensive.
“I can’t. She’s wet, so mommy wanted her to stay here.” To prove her point, the girl lifted me by the hair and gave me a little shake. Drops of water leaked from my various crevices.
“Then put her outside, or something.”
“Can’t. It’s supposed to rain – then she’ll never dry out in time for the yard sale next week.” The girl plopped me back down on the table, not caring that my left arm gave a little jerk and my expression changed from happy to shocked.
As the shadows started to lengthen and the house grew darker, the man ran around the house, lighting candles and calling to the children to make themselves busy in their rooms. With all the paper hanging from the ceiling, you would think he would have been worried about burning down the house.
Before I knew it, the house was filled with strangers. Some came with squares of paper, others with colourful boxes and even more with bottles of liquid. The liquid stuff seemed to make everyone happy. No one noticed me, listing slightly to the side, at the entrance to the house.
If they were trying to surprise the Birthday Girl, they did a rather lousy job. Oh, she was surprised, just not in the way she probably expected. Instead of being welcomed by a chorus of “Surprise!” she was greeted by me.
The table was piled so high with stuff, forcing me to slowly lose my unsteady perch. Just at the moment she walked in the door, and before anything was shouted, I dropped to the floor, with a terrible grimace on my face, sprinkling dirty water all over her shoes and scaring the crap out of her.
She squealed in fright and jumped back just as the party-goers shouted their “Surprise”. Irritated, the dad came forward, kicked me out of the way and enveloped his wife in a hug. I stared at them from under the table, trying to tamp down the anger that was slowly bubbling up inside. It wasn’t my fault Erika had taken me outside, soaked me and then left me on the table to tumble at an inopportune time.
“I hate that doll,” I heard the woman murmur in her husband’s ear, before turning a smile on the crowd behind him. She stepped into the room, receiving hugs and kisses from anyone and everyone, while I continued to stare out at them all from under the table.
The evening dragged on, with laughter, games and much consumption from those bottles that made everyone so happy. It seemed they got louder as the bottles got emptier. The kids were sent to bed while the adults continued to play, cranking the music, dancing in the living room and drinking from long-stemmed glasses.
Suddenly, I found myself being scooped up and brought into the midst of the party. A purple boa was draped around my neck, and someone plucked the tiara the birthday girl had been wearing from her hair and plopped it on my head.
“Not much of an improvement, I’m afraid,” one guest commented.
Another guest grabbed me and planted a wet kiss on my rubbery cheek. “Poor, ugly doll.”
Before I knew it, I was the centre of attention, my arm was being cranked, people were doubled over with fits of laughter and the wine continued to flow freely. I should have been flattered by so much interest, but I was furious. This wasn’t love and affection, it was ridicule and derision. If I’d had a heart, it would have shattered into a thousand pieces for their cruelty.
It was the wine that really pushed me over the edge. When the adults were finished their nasty games, I was left lying on the sofa, practically wedged between the cushions. One butt after another descended upon me, only to have the owner squeak “Oh!” before shifting to the side. During one of these episodes, when I would have screamed had I been given vocal chords, a large woman, whose butt I was about to pinch, sloshed her wine all over me as she awkwardly shifted to the side. So now, I was wet, sticky and smelled of happy-juice – just like the rest of them.
She picked me up, haphazardly wiped the wine away with a napkin and planted a wine-filled kiss on my forehead. I didn't need someone to crank my arm into an expression of horror. Not liking what she saw, she grabbed hold of my left arm and started to pump it up and down, trying to rearrange my sour expression into something more cheerful. Surprise! A gush of dirty rain-water poured out from under my arm, staining her cream-coloured dress muddy brown. Revenge is far sweeter than Birthday cake.
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