02-18-05 - 9:20 a.m.
the rumble doll is three months old today. on good days, she looks elfin, straight out of a david the gnome episode. on bad days, she's a sour old man. in the interest of a grandmotherly-type legacy, and moviemaven that i am, i've been teaching her about film. we often watch movies together, at night in my big brass bed. we've cried together when fredrick march walks into the sea in the original 'a star is born', and we've cried when debra winger coughs up a lung in 'terms of endearment'. we had 'the village' figured out in the first ten minutes. we love old ozzie and harriet episodes, although neither of us can figure out what ozzie does for a living. last night we watched the ultimate valentine gift, 'love story'. i hadn't seen it since...well, let's just say i was in knee-high pants, and after some retrospection, ali mcgraw's smartass "preppy" routine began to work on my last nerve. rumble doll liked the colored tights and plaid skirts but we didn't cry; let's face it; she was too damn pretty. and that ridiculous tag line- "love means never having to say you're sorry". quite the concept to teach a child! i can see it now; thirty years down the road- the rumble doll sells off chez sage, slaps me in a home with a package of depends and runs off to squander my retirement fund on a harvard preppy. and is she sorry? no. and why? because she loves me.