Cliques

Like I mentioned before, Sarah is crazy about dolls. She can spend large chunks of time manipulating them. They go into their strollers followed by a blanket on their heads. Then, they're pulled out of their strollers and strapped into their carseats with a different blanket on their head. Periodically, juice or milk bottles are jammed in their mouths. I don't quite understand the system. It's very involved, but Sarah seems to understand it fully. This is all great. I completely support her love of these "babies".

The downside to her fascination is that she really wants me to play along. This is not so great. This pretend stuff gets in the way of my real-life responsibilities - like my heavy burden of eating Oreos on the couch while watching Sex and the City reruns.

When I finally breakdown and tear myself away from the tube, it seems that I get the shaft. First, I'm given a stroller. A dirty, broken pink stroller. Then, I'm assigned my "baby". It's never one of the cute blue-eyed dolls. No. I'm always given the same doll. The ugly one:



While my lazy eyed baby and I bond over discussions of self-acceptance and the shallow definition of beauty in our world, Sarah and her favorite doll have lunch at the cool kid's table and pretend not to know us.



I'm sure it won't be long until they're only nice to us when they need help with their homework.