Life of Pride
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
This post is dedicated to Miranda. Miranda is a pink, pear-shaped pillow, to which is attached two skinny pink arms and two long legs, painstakingly weighted in the feet so that they dangle and swing to wrap around one in a startling manner if one should happen to hug her. At the top of this body-pillow, a round, pink head, about 9" in diameter, smiles placidly out of its embroidered eyes and mouth. A fringe of yarn-hair emerges from the base of her skull, giving her a startling decaying look, as if huge clumps of hair have fallen out. This contrasts oddly with her peaceful, almost dim-witted expression.
I began sewing Miranda with my youngest sister two summers ago, as an experiment. We didn't have a pattern or anything, which is just the way I like it. I'd made a few such dolls when I was younger - on a much smaller scale, of course. I wanted to create this one almost as large as my sister, because then she could clothe it with her old shirts and shorts.
By the time I sewed on the arms and head, I realized that they were proportionally too small, and the legs too long. But who cared - it was a doll, right? I didn't understand the true horror of my creation until my brother and his fiancee (now wife) arrived from CA. He and their "chaperone," Amir, one of Naomi's friends, slept in the living room on the floor. The first night, Amir awoke midway to find a pink, placid face staring at him from inches away. His loud yelp awoke several of us, and suspicion immediately fell on Naomi. She had greeted Miranda the night before with a startled look of disbelief that had quickly turned to hysterical laughter and the comment, "She's perfect!"
I thought it was pretty funny, until I woke up the next night to find Miranda lying on top of my chest, arms stretched toward my throat, as if caught in mid-act. My natural reaction was, "Good thing I woke up then! Who knew what would have happened in a few minutes?" Ridiculous, yes, but... She was so very placid-looking, and just a little misshapen. Just enough.
My parents thought it was pretty funny until, one afternoon, they discovered Miranda sitting in their bathroom and calmly reading a magazine. Naomi and Joe thought that was hilarious. The rest of us did too, but we kept it mostly to ourselves.
About then, I decided that Miranda had to go. "It's too bad, Lillie," I told my sister, "but she didn't come out very well. We'll do better next time." Then I deposited the misbegotten doll in the garage trash.
I didn't give the doll another thought until this past summer. "Naomi wants us to bring Miranda out to California so that she can use her to play jokes on the youth pastor," Magda announced as we were about to drive west.
"Wh- NO!" I sputtered. "I threw that thing away! And besides, that's really stupid. No way!"
"Greg saved Miranda from the trash," said Magda smugly, "and how are you going to stop me from bringing her."
I narrowed my eyes. Magda is a good deal larger than me. She is three inches taller, has much bigger hands, outweighs me by at least 50 #s, and can tickle me at will. She had a point. But I had the authority.
"Because she's mine. I threw her away once already, which means I want her trashed. So please leave the hideous work of my hands behind!"
One way or another, to my relief, Miranda did not accompany us to CA. Surreptitiously, I delivered her to the garbage once more. I thought that was the end of the matter.
Until today. What should Magda cheerfully bear into the kitchen as I was baking cookies - but a malformed pink pear with legs, arms, and a placid smile. My eyes bugged. Would I never be free?
"Wh-what?" I gasped.
"Guess where Miranda has been while you were gone?" asked Magda brightly. "Among other places, she's been in a guy's apartment most of the night!"
"WHAT?" There is no way to communicate my horror.
"Oh yes! The youth group girls wanted to get back at Tim (youth group leader) for TP'ing Amanda's house. So I told Amanda about Miranda, and of course she wanted to see her. It was easy from there. When Tim and Jay returned to their room one afternoon, they found a teepee in the middle of one of their beds. Miranda was inside."
All I could do was stare at Magda and Miranda wide-eyed.
"I like Miranda," added Lillie from behind Magda. "She's cushy, like a pillow."
Maybe I should give up. But the more I see Miranda, the more my soul revolts. She should not exist. I could easily write a horror story about her, which is obvious from the mixture of amusement and disgust that her acquaintance instantly excites. All I know is that her life seems to be much more of an ongoing saga than I had ever intended.
I began sewing Miranda with my youngest sister two summers ago, as an experiment. We didn't have a pattern or anything, which is just the way I like it. I'd made a few such dolls when I was younger - on a much smaller scale, of course. I wanted to create this one almost as large as my sister, because then she could clothe it with her old shirts and shorts.
By the time I sewed on the arms and head, I realized that they were proportionally too small, and the legs too long. But who cared - it was a doll, right? I didn't understand the true horror of my creation until my brother and his fiancee (now wife) arrived from CA. He and their "chaperone," Amir, one of Naomi's friends, slept in the living room on the floor. The first night, Amir awoke midway to find a pink, placid face staring at him from inches away. His loud yelp awoke several of us, and suspicion immediately fell on Naomi. She had greeted Miranda the night before with a startled look of disbelief that had quickly turned to hysterical laughter and the comment, "She's perfect!"
I thought it was pretty funny, until I woke up the next night to find Miranda lying on top of my chest, arms stretched toward my throat, as if caught in mid-act. My natural reaction was, "Good thing I woke up then! Who knew what would have happened in a few minutes?" Ridiculous, yes, but... She was so very placid-looking, and just a little misshapen. Just enough.
My parents thought it was pretty funny until, one afternoon, they discovered Miranda sitting in their bathroom and calmly reading a magazine. Naomi and Joe thought that was hilarious. The rest of us did too, but we kept it mostly to ourselves.
About then, I decided that Miranda had to go. "It's too bad, Lillie," I told my sister, "but she didn't come out very well. We'll do better next time." Then I deposited the misbegotten doll in the garage trash.
I didn't give the doll another thought until this past summer. "Naomi wants us to bring Miranda out to California so that she can use her to play jokes on the youth pastor," Magda announced as we were about to drive west.
"Wh- NO!" I sputtered. "I threw that thing away! And besides, that's really stupid. No way!"
"Greg saved Miranda from the trash," said Magda smugly, "and how are you going to stop me from bringing her."
I narrowed my eyes. Magda is a good deal larger than me. She is three inches taller, has much bigger hands, outweighs me by at least 50 #s, and can tickle me at will. She had a point. But I had the authority.
"Because she's mine. I threw her away once already, which means I want her trashed. So please leave the hideous work of my hands behind!"
One way or another, to my relief, Miranda did not accompany us to CA. Surreptitiously, I delivered her to the garbage once more. I thought that was the end of the matter.
Until today. What should Magda cheerfully bear into the kitchen as I was baking cookies - but a malformed pink pear with legs, arms, and a placid smile. My eyes bugged. Would I never be free?
"Wh-what?" I gasped.
"Guess where Miranda has been while you were gone?" asked Magda brightly. "Among other places, she's been in a guy's apartment most of the night!"
"WHAT?" There is no way to communicate my horror.
"Oh yes! The youth group girls wanted to get back at Tim (youth group leader) for TP'ing Amanda's house. So I told Amanda about Miranda, and of course she wanted to see her. It was easy from there. When Tim and Jay returned to their room one afternoon, they found a teepee in the middle of one of their beds. Miranda was inside."
All I could do was stare at Magda and Miranda wide-eyed.
"I like Miranda," added Lillie from behind Magda. "She's cushy, like a pillow."
Maybe I should give up. But the more I see Miranda, the more my soul revolts. She should not exist. I could easily write a horror story about her, which is obvious from the mixture of amusement and disgust that her acquaintance instantly excites. All I know is that her life seems to be much more of an ongoing saga than I had ever intended.
Comments:
That's an awesome story! :-) I'm a pansy who sticks with sewing animals from a pattern. And my brother still says my rabbits look like frogs with big ears. :-p
Post a Comment
