Don't Be Afraid. Be VERY Afraid

I have just a few rules in life.

Be nice.

Try not to be terribly wasteful.

Don't antagonize the bucket of baby-dolls in the basement.

Oh you laugh.

But I am saving humanity.

You see, I found these awesome candle holders at Old Time Pottery.

Please meet Skell and Tor.

I was lamenting the fact that I have had trouble finding candles which fit the shape of the holders. Regular tealights are too small to be seen. Tapers are too narrow. Pillars are too large.

Being ever helpful, Rob suggested going straight to the creep factor and pop the heads off some of the old dolls in the basement.

He said, and I quote, 'wouldn't it look so cool with tiny heads in their hands!'

(This was ROB. Not me. I am only reporting the facts. That's R-O-B. He's the guy in the house with a mustache. In case anyone needs to know.)

Those 'old dolls' currently and forever will, reside in a large popcorn tin.

 

They once belonged to my daughter, who has since moved out leaving her horrifying container of torsos behind. They were all loved once. But now, they sit on a shelf in the basement, lid nearly rusted tight, surrounded by two mannequin heads and a styling head.

(The Heads get to come upstairs for Mardi Gras. None of the Heads have bodies, or more importantly, arms with which they could pull the top off that popcorn tin)

I looked at my husband of 30 years as if he were a stranger and gave a resounding NO. Why would you open that can of dolls, pop off the heads of a select few and expect to live through the night?

He knows my feelings about non-living items with eyes.

(Once they have eyes, they have souls. You do not piss off non-living items with souls.)

This is partly why my Barbies live upstairs on a shelf of honor, our family teddy bears are in a basket in the hallway and that china doll which was broken had to leave under suspicious circumstances that I know nothing about.

NOTHING.

'Oh, come on,' he countered. 'What do you think will happen? That they will drag their tiny headless bodies up the stairs as we sleep and terrorize us?'

'Of course,' I answer while making a 'keep your voice down' gesture and lean over the back of the couch to watch the landing which leads to the dark basement.

'What makes you think they don't already hop right out of that can at night, have a little dance and then climb back in before morning?'

'Have you heard the cat crying out from the basement some nights? I am quite sure that they do. But at least they have their tiny heads on. There's a fairly well stocked bar down there, they have no reason to come upstairs. But without their heads....' 

Against my better judgement I opened the tin for this photo. Notice how that one nearest the Pretty Pretty Pony is beckoning me to come closer...

Needless to say. I found candles to fit the holders.

And bought a brand new bottle of tequila for the downstairs bar.

I have no idea what happened to the last one.

Fire. So much safer than a handful of heads.