I've started collecting miniature plastic and tin toys. I am not sure why I am suddenly so taken with fifty-cent plastic figurines and wind-up fire trucks, but there is something terribly pleasing about upending a bag and watching a collection of them tumble out.
I love the detailing on even the cheapest moulded rat.
I picked up this particular set of figures at a children's toy store in Cosmopolis. When I walked into the store, I was greeted by a large wall display of a higher end series from Germany, and when I say high end, I mean that there was a miniature, purple, winged unicorn with embedded sparkles for well over twenty dollars. There was an excellent little muskox that I flirted with on the seventh shelf, and a cute little skunk caught my eye on the third, but I simply could not justify spending upwards of five dollars for shapely chunks of plastic.
I pulled myself over the clear display bin filled with the fifty-centers and managed to find six that fit into my newly raised standards for artificial lilliputian recreations of carbon-based life forms.
I could not shake my lust for the excellent German figurines, though. They were so detailed! So flawlessly moulded! So cute!
I made the mistake of picking through the high end ones again, because they were on display right by the door, and wouldn't you know it, I just had to have this rat. The thing actually has little nail tips on its feet, and the fur detailing is continued on the underbelly. I named him Anatole. I did not already own a rat. He is sweet-looking.
Why am I trying to justify spending four dollars on a plastic rat to you?
Paulo, above, is the worst of the batch. The end of his gun is broken off, the paint job is shoddy, and one side of his face is less detailed than the other. He can stand on his own, though, so that's something. What can you expect when you are digging through a bin full of rubber balls with bugs inside them, smiley face pencil toppers on springs, and green erasers shaped like alien heads?
I do not do anything with all of this junk. I leave them in a plastic bag on a shelf and only take them out occasionally to look at them. It is not like I play with them, except for that time that Deadly Rabbit took out everyone taller than her in a bid for alpha status. I mostly just like to look at them.
Am I creepy? I am sounding very Laura Wingfield à la The Glass Menagerie.
That people own objects for the sole purpose of looking at them is fascinating. Why do people own decorative plates, books of art prints, or collections of matryoshka dolls? Why do I like to take out and look at a tiny, grey donkey that has CHINA stamped into his belly?
Deadly Rabbit will rip out your windpipe before you can make any Monty Python references.
The alien is actually a pencil topper. He finds his lack of limbs a little frustrating here on planet Earth, because it is really hard to operate the television remote with his eyestalks and see what's on at the same time.
I have them all lined up alongside my laptop right now. The scaly anteater and the rat are having a heavy make-out session while Paulo threatens to shoot them for their brazen display of interspecies perversion. It's time that they all go back in the bag. Because they sleep in there. And nobody fights when they are asleep. Yes.
I am creeping myself out now.
Say goodnight, guys.
Perhaps sometime I will show you my tin vehicles. One of them had a near fatal accident a couple of years ago, but he still looks good despite his lack of wheels.