My mother is elderly and, obviously, has elderly friends. These friends are well-meaning and have a lot of time on their hands. Mother mentioned to one of her friends that Maude and I had recently been blessed with another daughter. Mother’s friend was delighted and insisted that she would make a doll. Mother is polite and welcomed the idea.
When the large soft padded envelope arrived, the postman opened our porch door and left it in on the hallstand as he usually does. We don’t mind this postman having this access – he can certainly be trusted more than the last one. Aurora is like her mother and loves presents – even when they are not actually intended for her. At Aurora’s insistence I opened the parcel addressed to her sister. Aurora’s flight was incredibly swift. My daughter’s dashes through the drawing room usually come unstuck by her clumsiness – a stubbed toe or a trip halfway, followed by floods of tears. On this occasion I was amazed by her faultless athleticism – as she vaulted the arm of the sofa and forward rolled into her playtent before the whole doll had even appeared from the jiffy bag. Her manoeuvre was worthy of a 70’s cop show and only lacked a cry midway of ‘cover me!’
‘It’s scary Daddy! Give it back to postman!.’
Jocasta echoed Aurora’s verdict by crying instantly and noisily soiling her nappy when presented with the well-meant doll.
Mother called to check that we had received the parcel.
She was diplomatic.
‘I don’t know how she does it,‘ she observed of her friend.
I was less charitable.
‘I don’t know WHY she does it’.