I left my garbage can at the curb a little longer than I should have after this week’s collection. When I picked it up a day late I found it half full of Barbies.

I have no idea who put them there, but I am sure that somewhere on this base there is a very sad little girl. A very sad little girl who was a pretty spoiled little girl, from what I can gather, because I had to haul about half of what was in our trash can out of the trash can so there would be room for our actual trash. In the third that I managed to take out of there before the smell of rotting remnants of food drove me gagging from dumpster diving, I grabbed twenty-eight Barbies, mostly naked. There were at least twice that amount left, but I gave up rescuing them because of the stench.

Jonas, of course, thought it was Christmas. He had just gotten out of his bath and while I had the can tipped on it’s side so I could reach stuff, he crawled in butt naked and started grabbing everything he saw. I let him have one Barbie scantily clad in roller blades on her feet and nothing else and sent him indoors. Since then he has pulled over the trash three times because he knows there are toys inside.

I have added the rescued dolls to my growing rummage sale pile, where they will be sold for a song, unless the sad little nudist girl whose parents tossed her Barbies comes to claim them.