“Dear Diary,
Today, I lost Tutti’s panties.”
For some, losing a doll’s underwear wouldn’t classify as traumatic, but to this seven-year-old, I found it journal-worthy.
A second-grade diary is filled with the ups and downs of daily life. The birth of kittens. A fish fry with friends. A spelling bee at school. The plot to frighten Martha (I was to hide inside Martha’s locker while Scarlet coaxed her to open it. It backfired when Scarlet got side-tracked, and I spent the entire recess developing claustrophobia). All this and more were documented in my beloved diary.
But the Tutti catastrophe had to be one of my darkest days that year.
I received Tutti (whose name rhymes with Fruity) from my sister for Christmas. When I opened the gift, I could smell the perfume of her distinctive new plastic. Tutti’s bright blue eyes were destined to be a hit at show-and-tell. Standing six and a quarter inches tall, she had auburn hair almost reaching her bottom. Her short, baby-doll dress was pinstriped with red and white, with three navy buttons aligning the placket.
But the unique thing about Tutti was her navy blue bloomers. I’d had a blonde Barbie, a freckled Midge, and a very mod Twiggy. But none of them ever wore undergarments. I suppose it would have been too hard to slip underneath their fashionable fishnet hose.
Yet, Tutti was complete with underwear. It was a good thing, too, as her body was completely bendable from head to toe. Even a six-inch doll has to have some privacy.
When the day arrived for show-and-tell, every student in Mrs. Crouch’s class was armed and ready with recent gifts. Susie presented a new Barbie doll, and Christi shared recent Archie comics. Darla taught us how to hula hoop and Ann how to play “Operation.” We listened to Rhetta’s Mary Poppins album and played Sydney’s new Mystery Date Game. And, of course, everyone took part in the Farris twins ever-expanding troll collection.
But the star of the show was Tutti. She was a hit, especially since I’d also received an alternate outfit. No one had ever played with a Tutti doll before. She was dressed and undressed. Posed. Folded. Contorted. Tutti could bend in places a twelve-inch doll could not, you know. She did splits, lunges, backbends, and free-falling cartwheels.
What a day the two of us had. On the way home, I took Tutti from my book satchel to get some air. As I helped her touch her toes, I was shocked to see Tutti’s bare patootie. I was sobbing when the school bus stopped at my mailbox. Tutti’s bloomers were gone.
Although I did find them later that particular week, Tutti’s panties remained a source of grief my entire second-grade year. After a series of losses and recoveries, Tutti’s panties finally vanished forever. It is a sorrow emblazoned upon my memory to this day.
Tutti still exists somewhere. She is resting quietly in a shoebox in one of the closets. But if you visit, please don’t peek under her dress. I would hate for you to see me cry.