Editor's Note: Pamela Miller is member of Greater Phoenix Mensa and a regular contributor to their newsletter, Much Ado About Mensa (a.k.a. the MAAM). You can read more of Pamela’s writing online at http://www.adelicateflower.com.
Say Hello To My Little Friend
By Pamela Miller
December 2003
There are rules in every sphere of life. The one rule for best birthday gift at the party was that the actual retail value of said gift could not exceed 50¢. My original desire was for all the gifts to be free. This had worked well in the past, much better than the year I decided there should be a contest for the best card. This had nothing to do with the prewritten sentiments on the card. The card giver was to put his or her own personal stamp on the card, providing the birthday celebrant (me) with something to delight the funny bone. This unfortunately was beyond the scope of many. While some party goers got into the spirit of the game, most just picked out a card and signed their names, leaving a vast expanse of unfilled space on the card. That was too sad for words.
This was not just my party. Jamie and I were having a dual celebration. Therefore, the party could not be my sole vision. Jamie had set down the law. Presents could be up to 50¢, the setting would be outdoors rather than a restaurant, and there would be no goodie bags. Chopping me down at the ankles, the only thing I had sole final cut on was the cake. My choice: chocolate cake with fudge icing and an interior layer of custard and fresh strawberries.
"You didn't get flowers on it, did you?" she asked in a tone reminiscent of Joan Crawford shouting "No wire hangers!"
"Flowers. Are you kidding? There will be no icing flowers." And it was so.
There was much commotion and worry the day of the party. There is always a concern of the dreaded blow-off, that fear that others would simply not arrive at the appointed hour on the appointed day. As the guest list had ballooned up to 30, there was also a fear that there wouldn't be enough cake. It was unnecessary fear. The cake was huge and most of the guests arrived.
The initial idea was that the presents would be placed on the table in piles marked JAMIE or PAMELA. Then we could open all the presents together. That plan was abandoned fairly quickly. Presents were opened seconds after being handed to the receiver, the wrapping paper being removed with such speed that the confetti rained down on the guests. The presents were great. Shelly had placed a photo of me taken in a hot-tub in a frame and added the legend 'MMMM...Mensan Soup.' Heather and Tony gave me the free carry-on bag from her Mediterranean cruise. I received free software, free plastic bracelets, a yo-yo, a key holder from the Sahara hotel and plastic bugs. There were magnets, Mardi Gras beads, and cards galore. This was indeed a haul. Mike gave me a baggie filled with white powder. On the baggie he wrote 'fragile' and 'handle with care.' It was up to me to figure out his message.
Then Lacey arrived, clutching a life-sized package wrapped creatively in two large hefty bags. She laughed as she handed me the present. As she had taken the time to knot the bags, it took awhile to open the gift.
Lacey had given me a life-size blow up doll.
"You said you wanted a man," Lacey giggled.
This was true. It was also true that the doll was both nude and anatomically incorrect. Further, my mother was in attendance, watching her 37-year old daughter receive a life-size blow up doll at her birthday party. The doll was holding onto a red bag filled with hotel soaps, a means to allow him some dignity and cover a portion of the male body the doll did not possess.
Standing side by side, the doll was a perfect match. We were both hovering under 5' while fully inflated. He had short dark hair and piercing blue eyes, a trim mustache and a dark line across his chest meant to suggest he had impressive pecs.
"Is he supposed to be Wayne Newton?" I asked.
Lacey wasn't sure. The box didn't suggest he was anyone in particular.
"He could also be Mark Spitz. Thank you for blowing up the doll for me."
"Well, I couldn't really give an asthmatic an uninflated life size blow up doll."
We laughed. That might have been the party game we were lacking.
The doll was placed out of the way during the ceremonial blowing out of the candles. He sat in a chair, observing the scene with a big smile on his face, exhibiting his perfect teeth and unironic joy.
The doll inspired within me great pride. Because he couldn't talk, there wouldn't be that awkward period of discovering he had nothing of consequence to say. Because he was always smiling, I didn't have to look beneath the surface for his dark side. Because he was nude, I didn't have to worry about discovering he had tattoos of his former and current girlfriends, multiple piercings, or an exploding pustule disease. He came as advertised: the perfect man.
The green eyed monster of my own make up was quick to surface. There was no real reason for the jealousy. It was too soon in our relationship for there to be an element of possessiveness. I fought back the feeling as best I could, with the understanding he wasn't a man. He was an actual possession.
Other people at the park came by to discuss the doll, some being quite blunt about his obvious shortcoming. He also lacks fingers, but no one wanted to address that fact. A nice woman asked if she could borrow him for a photo.
"Sure. His name is David."
"Can I call him Dave?" she asked.
"No," I snapped. "He goes by his full name. No nicknames."
"Okay," she said, giving me a perplexed look.
I watched my doll being carried across the park. Then I watched a bevy of young women kiss him during the photo. The doll didn't mind, but I did. I didn't want another woman's lipstick on my man.
The doll was returned unharmed. I took him over to the low lying chair I'd been occupying. It was uncomfortable. Then I had the idea to use the doll as a back rest. Now it was a perfect fit. I slung his arms around me, allowing the doll to give me a hug.
The tail end of the party was like most evenings: a group of friends laughing and talking. When it was time to leave, my doll was placed in the trunk of the car. Once home, he was allowed to spend the night in the living room. This was a poor choice. While the doll didn't mind sleeping on the couch, my mother was scared silly when she saw a stranger in the house. He was moved to my bedroom, forever to watch over me like an angel.
The winner of the best present under 50¢ was Mike. The powder inside the bag was flour. It was delicate flour/flower, just like me.
Copyright © 2003 by Pamela Miller
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