There is a mail mountain on the dining room table of my parents' house. It is where unwanted junk mail goes to die. But today, in that mountain of forgotten Valu-Pak envelopes, I found magic.
I found an American Girl catalog.
I'm fifteen years past being young enough to justifiably order an American Girl catalog (and eight years past the last time I ordered one anyway), and I'm the youngest girl in my family, so I have no clue how it ended up at my mom's house. But it doesn't matter how it got there. All that matters is that it was there.
And that I took it.
I spent a solid eight years of my life staring at the pages of that catalog thinking about how mystical and magical my life would be if only my parents realized that I needed, that I deserved Samantha's paint set and flower press. I'm mentally conditioned to grab that catalog as soon as I see it. In fact, I'm pretty proud that I managed to stop myself short of circling the things I want for Christmas. Besides, if I hadn't taken the catalog, I wouldn't have learned an important piece of information.
Take a good look everyone:
Because Felicity Merriman is headed for the big American Girl Place in the sky. Like Samantha before her, the Felicity doll will be no more by the end of the year.Which means that 8-year-old me has to come to terms with the fact her super-awesome table, tea set and blue holiday dress will never be a part of my life.
Note: This is not a sponsored post. American Girl is not paying me to help them clear out the Felicity warehouse by preying on your sense of nostalgia. Promise.