Or should I say, "The Fate of Mr. Wonderful, the Romantic Talking Doll?"
Last August, my friends in Whim 'n Rhythm bought me a Mr. Wonderful doll to thank me for hosting them during Whim's summer retreat. At first, I was thrilled - we had been admiring both the dolls and the keychains at the local Walgreens, and he was just SO FUNNY. I took him out of his box and giddily listened to some of his spectacular sayings, which included things like "Here honey, you take the remote. I don't care what we're watching so long as I'm together with you."
Within two days, however, Mr. Wonderful had become a nightmare - literally. The horrible, Chuckie-esque nightmares I had about him are too horrific to describe in this forum. Suffice it to say, he did NOT like my having human beaux. I immediately returned him to his box and made him face the wall, eventually burying him beneath layers of junk that were recently removed when I packed up my apartment into a ten-foot U-Haul named "Pinchie." More on Pinchie later ... the point is, Mr. Wonderful was once again free to stare at me eerily, with his perfect white plastic teeth bared in his perfect plastic smile.
I was torn whether to sell him on Ebay, donate him to the Salvation Army, or to use him as a prop for a short film my brother and I were planning, in which the Chuckie nightmares came true. I even considered keeping him as a mate for the Ms. Wonderful doll owned by one Schmendrick the Magician. I figured they could be the 'perfect' plastic couple, and we could make fun of them behind their plastic backs.
I've spent most of the day painting the apartment, but I decided it would be better for me if I gathered the Salvation Army-bound things and took them to the hallway. As I wasn't leaving the building, I forgot my keys, and promptly locked myself out. I tracked down a working phone (thank you, apartment 2) and the number of the landlord (thank you, apartment 1) only to find that he was out of town on a soccer tournament. My landlord advised me to call a locksmith, which was not only annoying but very expensive. (Did I mention I am broke?) Call the locksmith I did, however, only to find that all trucks were out and that it would take several hours to get to me. So annoying, because I was covered in paint, had no warm clothing, and hadn't eaten my eggs ... MY EGGS. YES YES YES. They were boiling on the stove. The stove was on ... no open windows plus gas stove = I could call New Haven's Bravest. And call I did.
Though I made it perfectly clear while talking to the dispatcher that there was no fire, only a potential gas problem, they sent two trucks. Which seemed rather silly considering that the only thing needed was a very tall ladder with which to climb in my bathroom window, which was unlocked. I felt suddenly embarrassed and very self-conscious, covered in paint (did I mention the paint?) and unshowered and barely dressed in the freezing cold. Thankfully, all went smoothly, and when the fireman who had climbed in to turn off my stove and open the door came out, he was carrying none other than Mr. Wonderful, because he looked "just like the lieutenant."
It turns out he was right ... I gratefully gave the wonderful firemen my Mr. Wonderful doll, hoping that they would enjoy him and find him less frightening than I did. Then again, that shouldn't be too difficult, for they are New Haven's Bravest.
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