Some of you who know me are probably aware of the Great Dollhouse Disaster of 1995 and the 15 year old festering chip on my shoulder that resulted directly from this tragedy. If you have not yet heard this tale of shattered dreams and a child's first experience with disillusionment then please lend me your ear. (If you can already recite this tale verbatim then please feel free to scroll down and look at the pretty pictures):
My story begins in the summer of 1994 at the California State Fair. All I really wanted to do was check out the livestock and ride a
death trap or two but instead I was dragged into the expo hall to see which 4-H member had the most ribbons and who had grown the largest tomato that year. I was in for the surprise of my life when I stumbled upon an exhibit on miniatures and dollhouses that would ignite a multi-month long obsession. The vignettes on display were more than I could have ever imagined were possible in the world of miniatures (granted I was 9 at the time and this was the first time I realized there even was a world of miniatures). After my mind was blown all I could think of were the hundreds of ways
I would style my own diminutive abode if I had one. There would be chandeliers and window dressings, wallpaper and canopy beds, Viking ranges and tiled backsplashes! If my parents would not heed my advice and invest in lime tulle curtains and red velvet chaise lounges then I would get a dollhouse and style it my way! As a child of nearly 10 it is hard to ask for only one thing for your birthday but that was how badly I wanted a pint-sized design project of my very own. It was the only item on my wish list. I wanted this dollhouse stat so that the luxe rooms of myimagination could be created and the complex (not to mention sordid) lives of its itty-bitty inhabitants could commence. I could not care less if the house's exterior was shingled or finished at all. I wanted it immediately; I wanted it pre-fab. My father, on the other hand, thought, or pretended in an effort to save money to think, that the building of the dollhouse was half the fun. I objected. Not only did I not want to waste hours of decorating time building the dollhouse but I also did not trust my father to build the dollhouse in a timely fashion. My parents were insistent and so the dollhouse was purchased in the form of a build-it-yourself kit and I was promised that in no time at all my Allison Model dollhouse would look like this:
I didn't buy it at the time and 15 years later it's no surprise that instead of the above image my dollhouse looks like this:
How do I cope with the dissapointment, the shattered dreams, and the disillusionment of a young girl? The way you must cope with everything: suppress and repress. I don't entirely blame my parents. I should have put up more of a fuss. I knew better even if they didn't and so I have lived the past 15 years shouldering my fair share of the blame and trying to pretend that life is just as rich without that particular dream coming true. But I am only human and every so often my rage comes out. When I go home I will occassionally dump all of the pieces on the craft table and gather the tools to start building my masterpiece but the directions confuse me. Last time I even looked up local dollhouse stores to answer my questions. I drove to the only one in town and found out that it was out of business. Those are the moments I curse the day I acquiesed to a build-it-yourself "fun".
This entry was brought about because today has been particularly trying. In an act of massochistic stupidity I googled the words "miniature" + "interior" + "design" and practically drowned in the beautiful images of mini-lives and small scale design. I am posting the following images with a healthy dose of concern for you my readers. Please do not hold it against me when you fall in love with these pictures, ask your parents for a dollhouse of your very own, and find yourself in 2025 still waiting for it to be built.
{thank you telegraph for making my day!}
