Honolulu Lite
ALL I want for Christmas is my two front teeth and one of those new Playboy dolls. Those two items may not seem to have anything in common, but trust me, as soon as I get around to telling my wife I want the limited-edition, 16-inch replica of Swedish blond bombshell Victoria Silvstedt for Christmas, my two front teeth will be in immediate jeopardy. The danger of playing with dolls
Maybe I won't mention the Playboy doll to my wife. Maybe I'll order it, wrap it, address it to myself and hide it under the tree. On Christmas morning, I'll act surprised and say, "Look what Santa brought me! An anatomically correct replica of the 1997 Playmate of the Year! I must have been a GOOD BOY!"
Yeah, like she's going to buy that. What the hell was Hugh Hefner thinking when he decided to issue this new line of collectable Playmate dolls?
Obviously, the target market is degenerate old married men. But how are we supposed to obtain the blasted dolls if it means becoming the victims of spousal homicide?
Dolls have always been bad news for me. I remember when the first G.I. Joe action figures came out. I couldn't wait. I went down to the toy store every day to see if they arrived. I told my dad how they came with guns and helmets and boots and were just like Army men except you could move their arms and legs.
Finally they came in, and I pulled my Dad to the store. He looked at the G.I. Joes and said, "Hey, those are dolls. You're not getting a doll. What are you going to want next, a tiara and pink tutu?"
Those might not have been his exact words, but they capture the spirit of the moment. I never did get a G.I. Joe. Or a tiara, although I wondered for years what the hell a tiara was.
WHEN MY DAUGHTER was born, we moved into a new world of dolls. She had a ton of Barbies, and all of them were naked. It apparently was too much trouble to put the little costumes back on the dolls once they were taken off.
Sarah's favorite doll was a "My Size" Barbie, a doll of frightening height, maybe 3 feet tall. That doll, too, ended up naked. But as Sarah got older, she lost interest in dolls and was actually embarrassed to have them around when cousins came over. I'll never forget the time she stuffed the naked "My Size" Barbie under my wife's and my bed without telling us. How could I forget? It was about that time a workman came to install a mirror in our room, which entailed moving the bed. The workman shoved the bed aside, and there was the naked, nearly life-size doll.
"It's my daughter's," I sputtered. His eyes said, "Yeah. Right."
Despite my track record, the limited-edition Playboy dolls still seem pretty cool. And they are going to be worth a lot of money one day, just like the first edition G.I. Joes. I'm sure my wife will understand that the only reason I want a Playboy doll is as a long-term investment. Yeah. Right.
Alo-Ha! Friday compiles odd bits of news from Hawaii
and the world to get your weekend off to an entertaining start.
Charles Memminger also writes Honolulu Lite Mondays,
Wednesdays and Sundays. Send ideas to him at the
Honolulu Star-Bulletin, 500 Ala Moana Blvd., Suite 7-210,
Honolulu 96813, phone 235-6490 or e-mail cmemminger@starbulletin.com.
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