I have a confession to make. Well, not so much a confession as an admission of a character
I am obsessive. There isn’t really a rhyme or reason for why or for what I will become obsessive about, but when I do…look out. Let me show you an example of this that we are dealing with right now.
Do you remember when I told you about Little Diva’s favorite Christmas present this year? (This Barbie?)
Well, it’s missing. Gone. Everyone is convinced a neighbor-girl stole it one day after she was playing with Little Diva. (That was the last time it was seen.) Not only this Barbie, but 3 other My Scene Barbies.
A normal sane person (after searching the entire house several times) would give up, realize they are gone, and move the hell on. But me? Nope. There is literally not a day that goes by that I don’t look for those damn Barbies in one way or another. Remember, though, our house is for sale. There are no messy “under the beds” or cluttered closets or overflowing drawers. The house is very neat and clean. (Okay, we have a junk drawer or two, but no way that Barbie and her gang could hang there.) So, pretty much, I am apparently thinking they will appear out of thin air. That one day *shazamm* there they will be.
I know…this just isn’t normal. But damn it all, I want to find those Barbies. I think that my family thinks I have lost my mind. I am sure of it.
Clint: Honey, what are you doing? (As he sees me on my hands and knees looking under the couch that has been moved and swept under at least once a week for months.)
Me: Nothing. Really. Just thought that maybe… Nothing.
Clint: Were you looking for Barbie from da ‘hood again? *shaking his head in disbelief and probably some saddness, too*
Me: No. I mean, I’ve looked here. That would be crazy. It’s just that…I mean…Well….
Clint: Jenn. Jenn? Helloooooo?
Me: Okay, damn it. Yes, I was looking for that Barbie. For the love of God, where the hell is that Barbie?!! I MUST FIND THAT DAMN BARBIE!
Clint: *blank (frightened) stare*
I usually end up walking away shaking my head mumbling about “why would someone take a Barbie from a 3 year old? It’s not right. She just wouldn’t do that. It must be here somewhere.” And then off I am in my little deluded world in search of the Barbie that will never be found.
One night, around 12:30am after searching more than my normal one or two times, after a day of searches that included emptying out entire closets that were clean and organized in the first place, I popped up out of bed suddenly only to hear, “For the love of God, woman, if you are getting out of this bed to go look for that damn Barbie, I swear I will call the authorities and have you locked up. GO. TO. BED.”
I faked a cough, pretended I just needed water and then came back to bed. But damn, I know that Barbie would’ve been were I looked that night. But, alas, by morning , she had moved on again.
The oh-so-very sick part of this whole thing?? Do you know that this Barbie cannot be found. Oh, I am probably one day going to accept that Little Diva’s Barbie like this will never be found. (Yes, it will! It will too! I will find that damn Barbie if it kills me!) The horribly twisted part of this is that you cannot find this Barbie anywhere Which means that I cannot replace it. Do you get that? I cannot replace it. Which means that I am going to be searching for this frickin Barbie until the end of time. She is the Barbie that never was. (And she was so cute with her little do-rag and cup of coffee. She had a cup of coffee, people. She just cannot be gone!)
So, for the love of all that is Barbieness and not insane, if anyone comes across this Barbie, have a heart and let me know. Snag that little bitch up and I will pay you for shipping, handling and the money I would’ve saved when it helps me avoid being commited to a mental institution for the Barbie-deranged.
I thank you. Little Diva thanks you. And lord knows Clint will be eternally grateful. (Until I stumble upon my next obsession.)