When a hoard of little girls came to Eloise’s house to play, Eloise wouldn’t let them play with her dolls.
Eloise had more dolls than she needed, and as little Ruby said, “That’s just being selfish. I always let people play with my dolls.”
One very pretty doll caught Ruby’s attention. It was a Spanish doll; at least it looked Spanish. ”You’re not to touch it,” said Eloise. “Someone spent hours making those doll’s clothes to look Spanish.”
Rose liked the doll dressed for the cold. “You’re not to touch it,” said Eloise.
All in all, each liked a different doll – that’s how many Eloise had! – but Aria and Emily both liked best the doll with the Hawaiian skirt.
“You’re not to touch,” repeated Eloise. “Every country my husband and I visit when on vacation I buy a doll as a keepsake. Next year we’re thinking of going to Tibet.”
Sasha had collected quite a large number of dolls over the years. It began when she was in Fiji – as a tourist. She wanted to purchase something as a memento and the doll of a Fijian woman in traditional costume was the perfect reminder of a wonderful trip.
The following year Sasha and her husband visited Austria. An Austrian doll was the perfect souvenir. The next year it was Peru. Then Jamaica.
“I didn’t realize we’d been to so many countries,” remarked Sasha one day. “So far I’ve collected seventeen dolls from our trips overseas.”
But then things started to get a little loose. At the local market Sasha spied the most beautiful doll in a Moroccan outfit. It was perfect for her collection, even though she hadn’t been to Morocco. The collection built up quickly after that, and last count Sasha had over two hundred dolls. For her forty-seventh birthday, Sasha’s husband laid out the plans to build a room extension to the house. It would have lots of shelves and be perfect for a doll collection. And indeed it was!
By her fifty-eighth birthday Sasha had lost interest in the dolls. She had taken up quilting and with the removal of the shelves from the house’s extension it was the perfect size for a quilting room. Next time they travelled Sasha went from one quilting place to another.
And then she saw it! She just had to have it. It was in a quilting shop in Hong Kong. A small brass duck. It would be an admirable memento of their visit. Ornamental ducks would be the perfect things to collect.
It couldn’t be denied: Anne and Stanley were rich. When they married it was rich family marries rich family. Not only were they both from “old rich” families, but both were successful business people who with the moneyed kick-start were able to qualify as “new rich” as well.
They had a daughter, Esme. Just the one child and she was the biggest spoilt brat on the planet. Anne and Stanley, although they feared it was too late, knew they were responsible for their daughter’s overindulgence and decided they had better do something about it. They were going to say “No!” in no uncertain terms to Esme’s next “I want” request. They didn’t have to wait long.
“Mummy, can I have another doll?”
“Daddy, can I have another doll?”
“Why do you hate me?” screamed Esme. She went out to the incinerator and threw all of her ninety-six dolls in the fire.