At least a megajillion a few times a week, I get an email asking “Pssst- be real with me here. Have you been cheating on your Project, young lady?” First, I would like to thank these people for calling me a young lady. And second, YES, I did cheat. Once. In December. Kickin’ it old school with my shame post from December.
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When my family moved from a podunk town in South Korea to a slightly-less-but-still-relatively podunk town in Texas, I had two things working against me. One, I was a dumber-than-average 5-year-old, and two, I didn’t know a lick of English.
As we were walking home after kindergarten one day, my mom spotted a garage an apartment sale in a unit close to our own.
I was still trying to learn to speak me some American, so I didn’t understand what the mother-and-daughter duo were saying. Before I knew it, we were inside their apartment. Were we taking a tour? Were we looking at additional items for sale? Who the hell knows; I was five.
In the daughter’s room, I spotted a Monchhichi doll. Yes! I’d been eyeing one at the local five-and-dime, and I couldn’t believe I was going to get one that day…at garage apartment sale prices, no less.
I started carrying it around. In my mind, we were already at home and I was adoring it and loving it and playing with it. God, I loved America. I asked how much they wanted for the doll in broken English as we were about to exit.
The next five minutes were a little fuzzy. All I could piece together was that the doll was NOT for sale and the little girl was getting a little worried that I was doing some sort of immigrant five-finger discount.
I didn’t take that baby home. My mom refused to buy it for me full price. Damn you, garage sales, for teaching my mother to think everything should cost a quarter.
At Target this week, I spotted a Monchhichi doll. I wanted to bring it home for Cal so that she wouldn’t have any repressed Monchhichi doll issues as an adult.
Who am I kidding?? She doesn’t even know what a Monchhichi doll is!
I wanted it for myself, but shit, you know, The Project. I stood in front of the display for nearly ten minutes. I gave myself a little pep talk. Surely, I should be able to walk away from a furr-baby.
Apparently, the market rate for doom is $9.29. I bought it. It’s official. I’m a Project Fuck-up.
I thought about returning my new friend, Chhichi, but I’ve already kissed her and petted her and licked her face, so I’m not sure Target wants her back.
A DOLL did me in, folks. I hate myself. But only when I’m not busy kissing Chhichi’s face
Is there anything you desperately wanted as a kid but never got? Would you still buy it today?
P.S. Friends, I’m an asshole. I haven’t been keeping up on Twitter. If you’re already following me, would you do me a huge favor and leave your Twitter handle in your comment today? That way, I know who’s who, and I can follow y’all back. I’m @noshoppingliz, by the way.
