Mannequin

Let the record state that I absolutely HATE shopping. Just thinking about stepping inside a mall makes me want to slit my wrists. I hate the music, I hate the people, I hate the salesmen and women and I hate the overwhelming selection of merchandise. However, I don't mind shopping when I have a $100 gift card. I can suck it up long enough to go on a mini shopping spree on someone else's dime. The only thing I (normally) hate doing worse than shopping is shopping with my two year old. But, like I said, yesterday I had someone else's money to spend and I wasn't about to let them down, so I bundled up my bundle of joy and headed to Macy's. I actually don't hate Macy's as much as, say, Abergoddamnedcrombie, because the music is much more subdued, the salespeople look like they actually eat and I'm not asphyxiated with the smell of bottled teenage libido. I digress.

As we walk into the beautifully decorated Macy's, with their garland and giant Christmas balls (I just wanted to say balls) and pretty, tranquil Christmas music, I am transported into nostalgia. I pretend that I am wealthy and that I live in New York City and I'm shopping at THE Macy's. Even though I'm in Castleton, Indiana and the woman next to me is missing one of her front teeth and is riding a Rascal. I am instantly at peace. Then my fantasy is interrupted by a tiny little voice.

"Mommy, whassat?!"

"What?"

"Dat!" she says as her tiny little finger points to a beheaded male mannequin knealing on the floor decked out in his best winter gear.

"Oh, that's a mannequin."

"What's he do-ning?"

"He's modeling some clothes."

"I like him. He's wearing a chacket (jacket)!"

"I know! He has a nice jacket. C'mon, let's go shop!"

We walk 50 feet and I hear the little voice again.

"Mommy, what she do-ning?"

"What's who doing?"

"The mexican!"

"The Mexican?"

By this point I was horribly embarrassed by my blatantly racist child, until she pointed to an emaciated female mannequin modeling a slutty outfit in the junior's department.

"Oh! You mean the mannequin!"

"Yeah, the mexican! I wanna touch her!"

"Ok, nice touches. We don't want to play mannequin dominoes."

We made our way around the entire store until she had touched nearly every mannequin. She particularly loved the ones with bare midriffs.

"Looka her belly! She has a belly button!"

It was clear that these large, petrified humans were very real to her. Our story takes a sad turn, however, when my sweet little girl had the innocence ripped right out of her little heart as she stopped in her tracks and pointed at some very unfortunate mannequin.

(Sad voice)"Mommy, wha-happen her hand?" she asked when she spotted one who's hand was screwed on all askew. "She needa band-aid?"

And with that, her fantasy was interrupted by a loud nasally voice.

"No, honey, she's not real. Her hand just screws on."