Loving Proof

of how much my family loves me. I hadn’t thought about my favorite uncle, Herbert, until I replied to a post by Acidman about his lack of mechanical aptitude.

My uncle. Gotta love him. (He passed away in August 1975, sadly; the year I graduated from high school.)

My uncle had that same problem. It was glaringly evident at Christmastime when I was very young. You see, my mother always insisted that I have the latest and greatest Barbie and Barbie doll house.

So for several years when I was a little girl, I’d awaken on Christmas morning to the sound of cursing and banging.

Each year, my uncle would vow he was never going to put together “another damn doll house.” And every year, my mother suckered him into it. The last year I had a doll house (1966), it never did get put together quite right. It was supposed to fold up and be portable with a plastic handle across the fake “roof.” It just never would fold so it sat, splayed out in all its glory, on a card table in my bedroom.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my uncle was an otherwise amazingly brilliant man. He served in the military intelligence in Burma during WWII, so he did have plenty of brain matter to draw from.

But those damn doll houses….

I feel your pain, Acidman!

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