When our eyes connect the electricity takes my breath away. We belong together; no doubt about it.
She’d strolled past nonchalantly, dreamily browsing. I willed her to look at me. She walked by without the slightest pause. Geez, maybe this wasn’t meant to be – again.
I startled when she took two steps backward, looking directly into my emerald green eyes. ‘As green and glistening as Ireland herself’ boasts my tag.
She lifted me off the shelf, “You are beautiful. You need to come home with me.”
My heart leaped, tears stung my glass eyes. She turned me around, ruffling my silky auburn hair. I blush as she lifts my skirt looking at my Irish lace undergarments.
We left Ireland by way of Shannon airport. Wrapped in a sweatshirt inside her suitcase I heard we were flying to Chicago in America!
Finally pulled from the stifling suitcase, I am presented to a beautiful little girl with eyes as blue as mine are green. She kissed me. Then, she turned me around, ruffling my silky auburn hair. I blushed while she lifted my skirt to look at my Irish lace undergarments. What’s up with these people looking up my skirt?
I slept with my girl that night. She named me Erin. We played for hours: tea parties, stroller rides with other dolls, stuffed animals and a cat that made me sneeze.
The glorious days of being her favorite ended quickly. I was left in the stroller overnight in a damp garage. Then, I fell behind the sofa and lay there for hours with my leg straight up by my head. She was getting a piece of my mind if I ever got out of here!
Luckily, Grandma rescued me. Grandma suggested I be put on a shelf then I wouldn’t get dirty or broken. No! I want to play! I want to snuggle and I don’t mind if my dress has a bit of cat hair!
My girl and Grandma dusted off my dress, washed my porcelain face and hands, combed my hair. I looked fantastic. She looked into my eyes, kissed my cheek and hugged me. Grandma placed me on a high shelf next to a First Communion Doll.
F.C. thinks she’s something special with her fancy veil, lace dress, and Rosary beads. “Hi-” she starts. I cut her off, “Don’t talk to me.” Dang it! I’m on a shelf again.