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Sex Toys

I was watching T.V. late the other night and out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Strawberry Shortcake was humping Babar. The T.V. was flickering. The volume was down low. I think it was the Deer Hunter? Or Full Metal Jacket? I can’t remember. Anyway, I just happened to notice that the dolls were, you know, going at it.

I separated them, of course. This is a G-rated household. And I’ll be damned if it didn’t happen again the very next night. This time it was Minnie Mouse and I think she was going down on Humpty Dumpty. In another corner Buzz Lightyear was having a threesome with Snow White and Tinkerbell. Curious George was giving a hand job to Yosemite Sam.

“Bi-curious George,” I thought to myself.

That’s when I noticed that all the little Fisher Price men were lined up outside Madelyn’s dollhouse. And I might have been mistaken, but I thought I saw Little Bo Peep in the shadows with a clipboard. She was taking money from the Fisher Price guys and handing it to Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Meanwhile, My Pretty Pony and the Beast were doing something that is still illegal in 17 states. Elmo was watching them and he looked like he was tossing off.

“You’ve got to segregate your dolls,” I told Madelyn the next morning.

“What does ‘sed-dre-date’ mean, Mama?”

“It means that the boy dolls have to go to sleep in a different place than the girl dolls.”

“Why, Mama?”

“Because I think Little Bo Peep is running a brothel out of the Barbie townhouse.”

“What’s a ‘broffum,’ Mama?”

“Never mind. Just do it.”

The next night it happened again. I caught Grover playing with himself while Thomas the Train and Tweety Bird got it on behind a tower of Legos. It was kinky. Meanwhile the whole cast of Toy Story II cheered on Barbie, Skipper, and the Little Mermaid as they danced in a strip club made of Lincoln Logs. And behind the log cabin was Princess Leia and the Hasbro barn animals—all looking guilty as sin.

“You know, it would be one thing if it were just Spin-the-Bottle,” I told my husband when I climbed into bed. “Or even if the dolls were monogamous. I could let that slide. But I’m just not comfortable with this kind of experimentation.”

I lowered my voice. “And I don’t want to sound like a bigot, but you know, Polly Pocket and Big Bird? They’re not even the same species. They’re not even made from the same kind of manmade materials! Polly Pocket comes from recycled plastic and reclaimed sawdust and won a Toy of the Year award in 2008. Big Bird was made in China.”

“That’s kind of classist of you, isn’t it?” my husband said.

“I’m just saying—it’s not right. One day you let the Happy Meal toys mix with the ones woven from sustainable hemp and then before you know it—there goes the neighborhood. You just watch.”

We were interrupted by a ruckus in the other room. It was coming from one of the trucks. You know the old adage: “If the Tonka truck is rockin’ don’t come-a knockin’,” and I wish I hadn’t. The image of Prince Charming and G.I. Joe in the throes of passion is a hard one to shake.

The last straw was when I caught Winnie the Pooh and Wonder Woman attempting the “Bride’s Lament” from the Kama Sutra.

“That’s it,” I decided. “Everybody’s got to go.”

When my husband got home from work the next day, I was carrying boxes of toys out to the curb. Meanwhile, Madelyn was upstairs in her room, sobbing. Her shelves were empty with the exception of a plastic loom with which to make potholders out of colored bands.

“What’s going on?” my husband asked.

“It’s Sodom and Gomorrah in that toy chest!” I declared. “Every night it’s orgies and gang bangs! Those Disney princesses are a bunch of cheap hos! Sleeping Beauty gave the Busytown fire department the clap! Raggedy Ann is pregnant again. I just can’t have this kind of thing happening in my house.”


Janine Kovac enjoys champagne, folded laundry, and moonlit walks on the beach thinking about champagne and folded laundry.  She writes because God tells her to.


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