2. Monchhichi Dolls
Back in the 80’s there was a small Monchhichi craze at my school. I decided that I had to have one. I begged and begged my parents, but they were adamant in their refusal.
“It’s not your birthday, Lolly!” They would say. “We’re not paying 10 dollars for a doll when you already have so many!”
Of course, I was heartbroken. Here little ol’ nine-year-old me was, and I wasn’t getting what I wanted. Traumatizing.
I spent my days at my friend Mimi’s house, where we played with her seven (SEVEN!!!) Monchhichis. I would play happily for hours, glorying in their freckled faces and inviting blue eyes. Then, every day when I got home, I would cry and cry and cry.
It got so bad that I started cutting out pictures of Monchhichis that I drew and playing with them whenever I wasn’t at Mimi’s. It was really an obsession, and I laugh at myself now, but back then it was really important to me.
I taped all these Monchhichi pictures to my Christmas list, along with the word written in huge letters:
My parents got the point, but they still held out on me. All I got for Christmas was a sweater and a board game that had a note that said “Better than a Monchhichi” on it. It was infuriating. Who were they to not allow me to have one?
One day my sister (who was seven at the time) went off to her friend Amanda’s house and came back with a wad of cash. My ‘rents and I were shocked. She told us that she had done the Heimlich on Amanda’s little brother, and his parents, in gratitude for saving his life, gave her money.
Two days later, while getting into bed, I felt something hard under my pillow. I picked it up, confused. Lying there was a sailor Monchhichi doll with a handwritten note that said:
“Now can you please stop whining about them? – Lucy.”
Of course I did, and I’ve never forgotten what she did for me.
Until next time, this is Lollipop, signing off!
p.s. After I wrote this I felt so nostalgic that I bought myself a Monchhichi! Buh-bye now!