Cricket (Descriptive Essay, meaningful object that I no longer have).

Essay by CoachElleCollege, UndergraduateA+, November 2005

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As an only child who lived a good distance away from her best friends, I spent many of my early years creating playmates for myself. However, the Christmas after I turned five, my grandmother brought me Cricket. Cricket wasn't a puppy, or a goldfish, or anything alive. She was simply a doll.

Dolls like Cricket aren't made anymore. She was nearly as tall as I (the box she came in was even bigger), with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her hair was neatly pulled up with pink yarn bows into pigtails of what I called "boing-boing curls" and her eyes were round like that of a "Precious Moments" figurine. She smelled of new plastic and baby powder - that sickeningly sweet smell prevalent on preschool toys.

She was dressed in the height of fashion for a child in the mid-eighties. A pink striped sweater over a white blouse, a green skirt, and pink plastic shoes completed the outfit.

She stared up at me with surprised, blue eyes from my living room floor, amidst the Christmas wrap and tissue paper strewn everywhere. Continuing to unpack the box, I found the best surprise of all - Cricket could speak.

Pulling up her sweater and blouse, we found a tape player embedded in her back. Inserting the blue and white tape cassette that came with her, Cricket suddenly came to life. A tinny, little-girlish voice said, "Hi, I'm Cricket!" and her mouth started to move in sync with the words. Cricket's eyes always fascinated me, too - they moved back and forth, sometimes stopping in the middle, or looking upward; it depended on what she was discussing. She talked about a lot, too; set after set of clothes came with new tapes, games and books to entertain me.

Cricket was my best friend...