Of long ago memories revisited

I’m being lazy this week and revisiting an old column I wrote in March 1994.

Every once in a while, when I’m cleaning in Amy’s room, I stop and talk to the dolls.

They’re my dolls, you see, not hers. They are in her room because there’s no place for them in our room, and besides, I think my roommate might object to sharing his quarters with my childhood friends.