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February 19, 2008
When cleaning out a closet, my mother came across a medium-blue zippered hat box containing a mess of plastic dollhouse furniture. I probably hadn’t seen the box for 20 years or handled its contents for at least 35.

I sat on the floor and unzipped the zipper – oh, the thrill of that sound! – flipped back the lid, and gazed inside.

The furniture was crap. Just like it always was. Oh, joyous crap!

I rummaged around and discovered one item more colorful than the rest – a plastic “dad” figure.

“So THAT’S where the bastard’s been hiding all these years,” I said.