When I was five years old, my parents had a baby. To prepare me for this baby, some of our neighbors thoughtfully bought me a baby doll. It was supposed to be a realistic baby doll, I suppose to help me with the transition. Except that my parents had a little girl and the baby doll? It was a boy.
Now I know it LOOKS like a girl, what with all that pink lipstick and the fact that I used to dress it in my infant sister’s clothing. But it was most definitely a boy, a fact that a quick peek under that fluffy pink dress would verify.
Because that baby doll had a little plastic doodle.
It did! And this was in 1988, before the days that baby dolls talked or tinkled or breastfed (the latter of which, apparently, you can score for only $112 on ebay. Merry Christmas to me!) were the norm.
I took that doll with me everywhere and people were fascinated with it. Mostly because my grandmother showed all of them it’s teeny little man parts. And when I say “all of them” I mean every single person we ever encountered. The lady taking our order at Taco Bell. A person we happened to walk past in the shoe department at Macys. Her pastor. Everyone.
She’d take the baby doll from me and say in a hushed voice “Look at this little doll! Just look at this! It has a little wenis*! A real little wenis!” And whomever she was accosting with the doll would exclaim over it and call over all of their co-workers and they’d all stand around and say things like “Have you ever seen anything like it in all your days?”
21 years later I still have that doll. I’ve never met anyone else that had one. All of my friends think it is creepy. My husband likes to pretend that it doesn’t exist, which is why I like to randomly leave it on his pillow.
I’m really hoping that someone else on the internet has encountered one of these baby dolls. I’m also hoping it wasn’t because my grandmother introduced you to it while you were grocery shopping.
(We don’t actually call it a wenis, but I don’t want Creepy McCreepersons coming to my blog.)
