Dolls Belong In the Attic or At Goodwill

George’s mom in doll form (Seinfeld)


For the most part, dolls are creepy. I’m also not fond of miniatures of any kind. Why do people think making things smaller than they are in real life suddenly makes them cute?
Last week as we were pulling into the driveway, my son asked, “Who’s that man in the garage?”
“What?! Where??” I shrieked, thinking there was an intruder lurking about. Turns out he was referring to a three foot tall, freakishly lifelike statue of my brother-in-law perched on a shelf, smiling at us. 
My husband brought it home one day. I’m not exactly sure how he got his hands on it or why such a statue exists in the first place? Regardless, to my surprise he rescued his mini brother and made a place for him on a shelf in our garage.

Now a sort of ritual has began. Every morning as we leave for school through the garage, the kids says, “Bye Uncle Julian”, as though he’s the real deal. And they return at the end of the day with a happy, “Hi Uncle Julian.” It makes me smile.

Though I’m not a fan of dolls and the like, I’m growing rather fond of “Replica Julian.” He always has a smile on his face, he’s quiet, a good listener, the kids love him and as far as dolls go, he’s pretty easy on the eyes.

So, for the time being, or at least until Uncle J returns from overseas, THIS doll can stay.


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