by Paula K Crymes
(Grand Prairie, Texas)
One year when I was about seven or eight, my paternal grandfather took my family, mom, dad and three kids, and my aunt and uncle and their three boys, to Brighton for Christmas.
Brighton is a seaside town 55 miles north of London, England. We stayed in a hotel, the name of which I don't remember, and had a great deal of fun.
My sister and I got matching dolls from Father Christmas, the only difference being the color of their clothes. These dolls had moveable limbs and eyes that opened and closed. We named them Eleanor and Elizabeth. They also sported a set of very enviable eyelashes.
One afternoon we all went for a walk on the beach. After we returned I noticed that my one set of my doll's eyelashes were missing. I was mortified. I insisted that my cousins go back with me to the beach to find the lost lashes.
Now keep in mind the beaches of Brighton are not sandy, rather they are filled with miles of pebbles so trying to find a set of dolly eyelashes is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Of course we did not find it and I am sure my cousins were not very happy with me insisting on spending a couple of hours in the cold and wind looking for lashes!
And so poor Elizabeth was doomed to spend the rest of her life with one lashless eye. But I loved her nonetheless!
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