Last week my mother took Beatrice to the American Girl Store. Theo and I tagged along to make sure the brainwashing wasn't a complete success. I wasn't feeling too good about it as we pulled into the parking lot and Beatrice squealed "The American Girl store!" I hadn't told her where we were going so I asked "How do you know where we are?" She retorted "Mama, I can read the star sign." Wow.... that's some shit, girl can't even write her own name or tie her shoes but she knows the doll store.
This trip was planned by my mother as a reconnaissance mission for Christmas. Since this is Bea's first American Girl doll, I suggested we make a beeline for the cheaper Bitty Baby (read Gateway Drug) section. Bea's eyes lit up as my mother pulled one after another off the shelves for her to hold. Then she saw the twins in the next section and flipped the f out. I think at that point my mother would have bought her a set of octuplets.
W then we made our way up to the larger sized dolls (read Heroin) section. I don't think I'll have to worry about the American Girl marketing geniuses converting my little boy. He spent most of our twenty minutes up there hiding and trashing the joint:
On the way out the door my mother caught my eye and motioned to the section of mini-sized dolls, pantomiming buying one for Beatrice right then and there. I gave her a "Are you f'ing crazy look" after we turned it over to see the price tag of $22. It's 6 inches tall. My mother is totally drinking the Kool-Aid.