In loving memory of

my friend Toni (1932 - 2020)

Owing to her harebrains and innate curiosity, young AJ had gotten into all sorts of shenanigans most eight-year-old girls would only have nightmares about. To name but a few, she’d gotten locked in a store that sold illegal products, fought a demon and a ghost, and she wore a pair of briefs as a hat.

And one time, she found herself being shipped to a doll factory. Long story short: her mom, Angel “Blaze”, Sr., was trading her old Collectible Carrie doll, which was broken and dirty, for a new one, and a curious AJ had climbed into the styrofoam-filled box on the porch, from whence she was shipped to Playthingz-4-U’s factory HQ in Roma-V.

Later, in the aforementioned factory…

AJ and her mom’s old doll were poured down a chute that led them to two separate conveyor belts, each apparently intended to make a new toy either by scratch or through repairs.

“So zees eez where my toys come from,” the curious girl thought, looking around her in fascination.

Suddenly, a robotic arm came shooting down and powder-puffed some blush onto AJ’s face, making her gag and wipe frantically at it. AJ was a tomboy, and proud of it; she hated makeovers and trying on clothes, which led to frequent skirmishes with her mother, who loved cute things and had been dying to “dolly up” her daughter since birth.

After AJ had ripped off a brown wig a second robo-arm had shoved on her head, she tried to crawl towards the exit, but then Robo-Arm #3 grabbed her by her collar and hoisted her up to a shelf above the conveyor belts.

The eye-banged girl looked down, let out a gulp and a whimper, and held onto Robo-Arm #3 for dear life; she wasn’t too fond of heights.

It turned out that the second-floor shelf was where the tags and warning labels were placed on the dolls’ backsides.

After she was back on the first-floor conveyor belt (much to her relief), AJ was fitted into a blue dress with white spots on it, then dropped into a crate stamped with her address along with another Carrie doll.

“Oh, bonjour, Karen,” the silly girl said to the doll as the crate was loaded into a delivery truck, “Can you believe what zees toy-building place ‘as done to me? Zey gave me a makeover and leefted me up by my sweater collar!” Here she pulled a face and shuddered. “I’ve been scared of ‘ights since I got stuck up ze peach tree in our front yard when I was leetler. And as for ze makeover zing, I zink zey are boring and stupid, but Mommy keeps trying to give me one anyway.”

Tears began sliding underneath AJ’s straw-colored bangs at the thought of the mother she just realized she missed.

“I-I ‘ope she finds me soon…”

One delivery later...

So, the story ended with good news and bad news:

The good news was AJ was returned to her mother within 72 hours, thirsty and famished and completely terrified but otherwise OK. Filled with rage only a mother could have, Blaze sued Playthingz for traumatizing her little girl (AJ: “What’s ‘traumatizing’ mean?” Blaze: “I’ll tell you when you’re older, Crumpet.”) and was compensated with only having to pay shipping fees for her doll. Plus, they threw in a free Chinese finger-trap for AJ (“Look, Mommy, my finger’s stuck!”).

The bad news was AJ’s doll factory makeover sent Blaze into cuteness overload again and made her want to do a fashion show for their family photo album.

“AJ, my cute, cute daughter,” the French cafeteria lady said, getting on her hands and knees in front of her charge, “S'il vous plait, plait, plait let Mommy dress you up. S’IL VOUS PLAIT!” She sounded desperate, close to tears even.

AJ felt like barfing. “Non, ma mere.” She turned towards the stairs to get to her room.

“I’ll buy you some grapes and hotdogs,” Blaze proposed.

AJ winced and mentally cursed herself for already drooling. Grapes and hotdogs were her two favorite foods. “Alright, one photo.”

“YAAAY!” Blaze cheered, running to give her daughter a hug, “Je t’aime, Crumpet!”

AJ was taken aback by the sudden hug at first, but then she smiled and returned the hug. “Je t’aime aussi, Mommy.”

~The end!~