Here's a genuine 1953 Christmas photo. I kept all the background because it's amazing how many of the things in this picture survive. I'll name them and maybe you'll see some another time. The suitcase, new that year. Zora, her neck broken the year before by yours truly, the small table and folding chair, Happy Dobby, the wall hanging, the Child's World encyclopedia, surely the unidentified books in the pile, and the rug (although I gave it to deserving friends some years ago).
You've previously heard about Butchy Boy, sleeping in the chair.
But my focus tonight is Cynthia and me.
She was new that year. I was five.
Here is Cynthia at 62. She's not going hiking any time soon and handicrafts will be difficult. Although posed well, she needs a full left hip replacement.
Here I am at, well you can figure it out. My shoulders are also iffy, although still attached. Cynthia's face hasn't a single wrinkle while I'm a little saggy. My hair has thinned, but hers is worse.
Considering that I was never a doll-playing child, she looks well-worn. I did drag dolls around occasionally and pose them to be in pretend stories and things. I liked stuffed animals much better. But if you look back at the first picture you can see that I've covered the room with Tinkertoy structures, but the doll is pristine. I was probably told to sit with her for the photo.
So, take your pick at who has aged better. However, Cynthia went back in prison in a trunk while I get to remain on the loose. My conclusion-- a pretty face can't get you everywhere.
Hope you had a wonderful Christmas.
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