It’s usually the case that a child’s best friend at a young age is their favorite stuffed animal or in my case, my doll. The small pink, bunny eared doll I naturally called “Dolly” was my prized possession and never ever left my arms, until the unforgettable trip to Giant with my mother. At the time I felt clever positioning her into the cart, fully strapped in with the safety seatbelt and all, a place where my mother would rather have me, opposed to running around the store aimlessly as she tried to keep track of me. Though the grocery store was not even two miles from my house, it felt like she was a million miles away the day I left her strapped into the front seat of mothers shopping cart. My mom called the grocery store as soon as I discovered she was not with me but the store closed before I could get my safeguard back. Separation brought on a whole new meaning to my life that night. Although I probably drove my family crazy whining about my doll from dusk until dawn it was completely worth it when an older, chubby man at the grocery store gently returned it to my arms the next morning, bright and early.
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