If I tell you that I am a doll, you immediately think that I am pretty. "Pretty as a doll", isn't it what people say ? Prepare yourself for a surprise : I am not pretty. Not pretty at all. And I still have not been able to find the reason why... Was there any mistake in the production line ? Do I belong to some project that after all didn't go through ?I have no idea. But I am absolutely sure I am one of a kind.
When I was in the factory, getting ready to be shipped I hadn't the faintest idea where, I would look at my sisters, all long fair hair, all big green eyes, and just assumed my outlook was the same. I confess it was a bit of a chock to find out that I was blond, yes, but my hair wasn't soft, it was brittle and lifeless, and surely my eyes were green but I was so nearsighted I had to hide them behind thick lenses...my skin, instead of looking healthily fresh, was covered with pimples. If you add to this picture the fact that my teeth were comparable to those of a beaver, well...it's not a flattering image, is it ? It was rather difficult to live with that reality, especially in nowadays society, where the outlook seems to play such an important role, and it's nearly compulsory for every woman to look fresh, beautiful, with nice complexion, the hair recently done and the impression that she has just spent 5 hours exercising ! So there I was in the shop, feeling oddly out of place and every day hoping some little girl would point at me and say : "Mummy, I want that one..."
Which unfortunately did not happen.
I was by nature optimistic but as time went by I became more and more sad and without hope. No one would buy me ! What should anyone want an ugly doll for ? I thought it over in my head and it seemed that the only solution was to become pretty, no matter what the cost would be !
After several phone calls I was forced to admit the truth : the cost mattered ! If I wanted a plastic operation for the nose, skin care in a beauty parlour and hair shiny and soft as silk I would better prepare to spend a great deal. I had no idea how much money was needed just to keep a neat image...I admit that was a serious blow in my daydreams, but I got over it in an unexpected way : in order to fill time I began reading, and I quickly found out that, instead of a mere hobby, it was becoming a real passion. I had managed to read all the books that were in the shop in no time. And was yearning for more. So I became a member of the local library, and read as much as I wanted : Kafka, Beauvoir, Sartre, Valtari, Remarque, Hemingway, Gorki, Tolstoi, Dostoievski, Kerouac...I spent much of the day sleeping so that I could have peace and quiet in order to work during the night, for now I was not only reading, I was following a course promoted by a correspondence school. I wanted to become an economist. I no longer cared if anyone was going to buy me or not. In fact, it would upset my plans if anyone would think of buying me now, now that I was nearly completing my studies...
Seems that life is all about surprises : I was unexpectedly bought by a very nice young woman who, quite clearly, wanted something else but thought that I might as well do the trick. She was buying me as a present that her own little daughter would give to a friend. I was wrapped in bright coloured paper and taken somewhere which didn't seem to be too far away from the shop. I was unable of seeing anything, of course, only heard the motor of a car, and after days of dark eternity I was suddenly surrounded by light, laughter, and people. Mostly kids. It was a fine party with much nice things to eat, cute paper dishes, funny paper hats, soft drinks, hot dogs, sandwiches cut in triangles, bonbons and an enormous birthday cake with two marzipan roses and a sweet inscription that said "Congratulations !"
One little girl with dark hair and intense blue eyes held me tight. So she was my rightful owner. Fine. I liked her on the spot. Thought we would become real good friends. For my part, I was willing to do my best.
All was going smoothly until one of her guests, a skinny blond girl said :" But what kind of a doll is that ? It's ugly, ugly, ugly !"
Because immediately all the other kids made an accusing chorus: "u-gly ! U-gly ! U- gly ! U-gly !"

-Can you imagine anything more dreadful ? Where did she got it, in the waste basket ?
-Well, I have to admit it has a certain charm...
-Charm ?! What do you mean, charm ? Is that a new word for ugliness ?
-Rubbish ! What is beauty, after all ? It's mostly a question of fashion, a question of saying "look, this is up to date, this is pretty".
-You got to be joking !
-No, I'm not ! - I heard the man say. He was the father of the little birthday girl. This talk took place a couple of days after the party. I was already used to that beautiful house which was now my home and moved freely around during the night. I assumed the man (who was a plastic artist) made a good deal of money in his profession in order to be able to have such a home. He spoke again to his friend and I heard him attentively :
-If tomorrow I would say to the world : "Behold, this is Beauty", everyone would believe !
-Well, I don't !
-Just wait and see ! - said the plastic artist, puffing at his cigar - Just wait and see...

The next day I was taken out of the bed quite early. Someone put a black velvet dress on me, silver pointed shoes, and a good looking girl combed my hair in a crazy fashion. I was put on a wooden chair resembling a throne, the strong lights hit my face and blinded my eyes, the heat of the studio nearly made me faint.
A week later I was the cover of the most important fashion magazines of the world. The phone kept ringing in order to invite me for tv programs, fashion shows, radio interviews...pretty soon I was considered as the doll of the year. A couple of months had elapsed and I was acclaimed as the doll of the decade. World famous cloth designers begged for the privilege of designing clothes for me. Make-up companies offered small fortunes for me to advertise their products. I announced french perfumes, sports clothes ,cars, soaps, body lotions... Every time I went out there were photographers wanting my picture and lots of people wanting my autograph. There were even rumors of a possible love story between me and a handsome, famous Hollywood star...
As to me... well, with a little effort I managed to graduate. When nowadays I look at myself in the mirror, I do it without unpleasant feelings. I see the thick glasses (never truly adapted myself to using contact lenses), the blemished skin, the dry hair and, in spite of the opinion of the whole world, I still see myself as an ugly doll. But there are two big differences from the way I used to see myself before : I have learned to accept myself as I am. And, thanks to my studies, I managed to invest my money in the best way.
The little girl who is still my owner got married last year and, the day she'll have a little girl of her own, I will not feel jealous for most probably I will become her most trusted friend, in whom she can confide her most inner secrets without fear. And I will also take with pleasure the role of baby sitter when she'll want to go out with her husband. So I assume I am a happy doll.