Another retold memory, again from my mother.

When I was a year old (going on two) Strawberry Shortcake was big.  BIG.  I loved her.  I looked for her everywhere, absolutely adored her, and desperately wanted a Strawberry Shortcake doll of my very own.  The entire family, including my somewhat gruff, undemonstrative grandpa, had been hunting all over town for Shortcake dolls, with no success.

One afternoon, during my nap, Grandpa came by.  He hadn’t found Strawberry, but he’d found her friend Raspberry Tart.  When I woke up, I was absolutely dumbfounded.  (Unusual even then, as I’ve been gabby practically since birth.)  I just stared at the doll, and could only say “Shotecake!”  I didn’t let her out of my sight for weeks, and I can still remember the way she smelled (like artificial raspberries) and her curly plastic hair.

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