What Ever Happened To Mr. Met?

Mr. Met: Stolen, abused, and thrown in a cubby hole. Blasphemy, I tell ya! Sheer blasphemy!

Now that we're on the subject of childhood dolls, I feel I have to do a post on the great Mr. Met mystery--heretofore referred to as the Mr. Met Mystery of Massive Proportion. You see, it's just that so many of you have written in and told me stories of childhood doll dilemmas, I feel that I can't conscionably ignore that this problem exists in our world. Let's take the Mr. Met Mystery of Massive Proportion as an example of this blasphemic mayhem:

When I was 7 years old, I joined my hometown's Little League. I was only the third or fourth girl who was ever allowed to play with the boys. When I was in the minors I hit an 'in the park' homerun, which cancelled any hopes of getting a date to the sixth grade dance, but that's a separate story altogether.

When I was a kid I loved the Mets. My favorite player was Rusty Staub, but even more than him, I loved Mr. Met. For any of you born before 1979, you'll recall Mr. Met as the crazy baseball-shaped guy who ran around the field trying to get the crowd to cheer while the Mets were losing trying to win their games. I got this particular Mr. Met doll while attending a baseball game at Shea Stadium sometime during the '70s.

Now, here's where the mystery comes into play: one day, Mr. Met just disappeared! He vanished without a trace, never to be heard from again (not that he ever talked when he was not lost! You get the picture). My heart was broken! Mr. Met was gone.

Well, last week, on Thanksgiving to be exact, I found Mr. Met while looking for that infamous Gene Vincent box-set in the attic cubby hole (see previous post for more info on the box-set. By the way, I never did find it!)

I found Mr. Met stuffed into a garbage bag, right next to Mr. Yankee. At first I was so happy that Mr. Met was found, but then I noticed the burn marks on his mouth. Someone tried to get Mr. Met to smoke!!! Check out the burn marks on the poor guy's mouth:

I never did find out who stole Mr. Met. Whoever it was obviously threw him in the attic cubby hole so that I wouldn't find out that he or she made him smoke a butt or two. Blasphemy. The thing that really gets me mad is that Mr. Yankee escaped without a scratch (although it's obvious that someone had spilled rootbeer, or the like, on his pinstripes). I have a pretty good idea who did this to my beloved Mr. Met. I did find one of my (male) cousin's favorite teddy-bears right beside Mr. Met and Mr. Yankee. Hhhmmm....vengeance is mine! (I know many of you probably think of me as a compassionate person who would never hurt another human being, but, let me tell you, I do have my limitations. You mess with Mr. Met, you're basically asking for the wrath of Bhakti!!!) :P

What condition is your teddy-bear/favorite childhood doll in these days? I know L>T has said that her beloved doll has been burried in an ant hole. If you'd like to share your story or some happy thoughts, please do so at the beep (if you don't hear the beep in say, 10 or 20 minutes, simply click on the 'Happy Thoughts' comment link to have your voice heard).