As a kid, I had numerous collections—shells, rocks, stamps, glass animals, and dolls…lots of dolls.

I’ve purged the attic of all my old collections (I think), including my vinyl record albums. (That one was sad, but they were warped and I don’t own a turntable anymore.)

The last collection to go was the dolls. I had a few specialty dolls, along with a large collection of Madame Alexander dolls, which were very popular gifts for girls in the 70s. I loved their pretty costumes representing the nations of the world. These weren’t dolls you played with (like Barbie), they were meant to be displayed and admired. They lived on a shelf in my room. Of course, I did play with them sometimes, but I felt badly for doing so. Thinking back, I already felt enough pressure to be perfect and not commit “sins” (as defined by the Catholic Church), so I really didn’t need those dolls tempting me too!

In the end, they were basically worthless. Even though they were in good shape (with their original boxes), a doll dealer gave me less than $50 for the whole lot. I should have played with them all along.

They sat on the dining room table for about a week, creeping out my husband, before I sold them.

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I’d rather laugh with the sinners