I FAILED. shit.

At least a megajillion a few times a week, I get an email asking “Pssst- be real with me here. Have you been cheating on your Project, young lady?” First, I would like to thank these people for calling me a young lady. And second, YES, I did cheat. Once. In December. Kickin’ it old school with my shame post from December. 
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When my family moved from a podunk town in South Korea to a slightly-less-but-still-relatively podunk town in Texas, I had two things working against me. One, I was a dumber-than-average 5-year-old, and two, I didn’t know a lick of English.

Shortly after we moved, my mom got wind of the Great American Concept- garage sales. Every weekend, she convinced my reluctant dad to drive around while she scoped out random neighborhoods for steals and deals.

As we were walking home after kindergarten one day, my mom spotted a garage an apartment sale in a unit close to our own.

I was still trying to learn to speak me some American, so I didn’t understand what the mother-and-daughter duo were saying.  Before I knew it, we were inside their apartment. Were we taking a tour? Were we looking at additional items for sale? Who the hell knows; I was five.

In the daughter’s room, I spotted a Monchhichi doll. Yes! I’d been eyeing one at the local five-and-dime, and I couldn’t believe I was going to get one that day…at garage apartment sale prices, no less.

I started carrying it around. In my mind, we were already at home and I was adoring it and loving it and playing with it. God, I loved America. I asked how much they wanted for the doll in broken English as we were about to exit.

The next five minutes were a little fuzzy. All I could piece together was that the doll was NOT for sale and the little girl was getting a little worried that I was doing some sort of immigrant five-finger discount.

I didn’t take that baby home. My mom refused to buy it for me full price. Damn you, garage sales, for teaching my mother to think everything should cost a quarter.

At Target this week, I spotted a Monchhichi doll. I wanted to bring it home for Cal so that she wouldn’t have any repressed Monchhichi doll issues as an adult.

Who am I kidding?? She doesn’t even know what a Monchhichi doll is!

I wanted it for myself, but shit, you know, The Project. I stood in front of the display for nearly ten minutes. I gave myself a little pep talk. Surely, I should be able to walk away from a furr-baby.

Apparently, the market rate for doom is $9.29. I bought it. It’s official. I’m a Project Fuck-up.

I thought about returning my new friend, Chhichi, but I’ve already kissed her and petted her and licked her face, so I’m not sure Target wants her back.

A DOLL did me in, folks. I hate myself. But only when I’m not busy kissing Chhichi’s face

Is there anything you desperately wanted as a kid but never got? Would you still buy it today?

P.S. Friends, I’m an asshole. I haven’t been keeping up on Twitter. If you’re already following me, would you do me a huge favor and leave your Twitter handle in your comment today? That way, I know who’s who, and I can follow y’all back. I’m @noshoppingliz, by the way.

top photo via blueq.com

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