The Doll House
Veronica loved dolls. Ever since she was a little girl, she collected them and adored every aspect of those little women in the fancy dresses. Even into adulthood, Veronica never stopped her obsession. Her collection grew into the vast hundreds, filling rooms of her home with rows and rows of dolls in and out of their original packaging.
Because of this, she never could keep a man around for long. Most men hated the thought of all those little glass eyes peering back at them during dates at her house. “It’s too damn creepy, Veronica,” they’d say. Veronica would show them the door before she gave up her hobby. Men only seemed to want her for her beautiful body, her sexy voice, and perhaps even her point of view. None of them really appreciated her as a person. Her dolls, by contrast, never wanted anything more from her but her love. They never judged her or belittled her. Veronica was fine to live with her little army of dolls.
One day, strolling through a little hamlet in Germany, she came upon a little shop selling the most exquisite collection of beautiful dolls she had ever laid eyes on. Taking an immediate left turn into Hansen’s Doll Shoppe, she opened the door to hear a little bell announce her presence. Veronica spent nearly two hours in the shop, examining each one very carefully.
The dolls looked so real to her. The craftsmanship, the attention to every detail, the very personality given to each little woman took her breath away. She stopped at two in a glass case that were of equal beauty. One had curly black hair while the other sported cascades of twirling reddish-brown locks. They looked as though they could each be glamour models, had they been real women.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, turning her head to the little old man behind the counter, “I’d like to see these two if I may. Can you take them out of the cabinet for me?” The little man with white hair and thick mustache smiled brightly and took his key off the back wall. Carefully he collected the two masterpieces in his aged hands and held them up for Veronica’s inspection. She marveled at works, but couldn’t decide which one to buy.
“If I may,” he suggested in thick German accent, “these two are a set. It would break my aging German heart to see them separated. I will give you a deal on the pair, because I can see you’re a woman of taste, and you appreciate my art.” Veronica beamed with excitement and even gave the little German a peck on his cheek.
He rang them up, swiped her Visa card and sent her on her way. She walked back to her hotel room with the wrapped boxes held tightly in her left arm’s constricted hug.
When Veronica landed back in the United States, she took a cab home and entered her house very tired. Not bothering to unpack her suitcase, she took her German souvenirs up to her guest room where her collection remained on display and opened the two brown boxes. Carefully inspecting each doll for any damage during flight, she was pleased to see that each one remained intact and unhurt. Veronica set them on the table in the room and stepped back to marvel at them again. She faced them to look at each other, almost as if the two where old friends, or even perhaps lovers, reuniting for the first time in a frozen scene of a play.
Now jet lag was taking over her eyelids, and she felt grimy to say the least. The shower was calling her name from the airport, so Veronica took off her clothes in the guest room until she became completely bare. She undid the tie that kept her thick black hair in place and let it fall past her shoulders. Veronica smoothed her hands over her skin and massaged her body while looking thoughtfully at her new dolls. Her gorgeous body towered over the two little angelic dolls.
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