April 22, 2002

Today is the day to speak Double Dutch to a real Double Dutchess.

Last night I went to the Elvis Costello concert at the House of Blues. He did not sing "Tiny Steps," a song about a doll coming to life. But that's all right, because I pretty much lived the song Saturday afternoon, with my tea party at the American Girls Store

For those of you who are not familiar with this phenomenon, the American Girls Dolls were introduced in 1986, featuring dolls from historical figures who arrive with personal histories, accessories, wardrobes and books. I received Samantha, the Victorian-era doll, because she looks like me. Her character is also rich, so she rocks; she has lots of cool stuff.

Since then, the American Girls has exploded into a huge conglomerate, encapsulated by the American Girls Store on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago. It is truly an experience--remember how Niketown was a tourist attraction? The A.G.S. makes Niketown look like a dime store. You can buy clothes for your kids and your dolls, of course, but why stop there? You can catch an American Girls Musical show as well, or take your American Girl doll to the salon, or grab a meal at the American Girl Place Cafe, which is what I found myself doing at 3:45 with my Aunt Ginger and 5-year-old goddaughter Ann (she has Kit, who looks more like her than Samantha does me.) If you click on the link, you'll see the outfit that both Ann and Kit were wearing. I did not wear the same outfit as Samantha, mostly because I own neither an apron or high-button boots.

Where to start? The room was decorated in black and white stripes and accented with pink gerbera daisies. Enter, and you're handed a small chair to attach to the table so your doll can sit with you. Rather shamefacedly, I pulled Samantha out of my bag (yes, of course, she joined us: she hasn't left the house since 1986, after all), but the hostess handed me a miniature chair without batting an eye.

The place was packed: tables of girls and families sat together chatting excitedly (in fact, during my whole time there, I heard nary a whine, let alone a temper tantrum.) Asian families sat with their custom-designed Asian dolls, as did Hispanic families and African-American families. It was a little odd and a little cool at the same time.

Sitting down, you have your choice of hot tea, pink lemonade, milk, iced tea, coffee, or hot cocoa for your beverage. The American Girls store is insistent that your entire time be magical and fun-filled. A violinist played practically inaudibly against the wall while you can entertain youself with crafts at the table, and my favorite, a conversation box, filled with slips of paper with questions on them such as "If you were to have 100 pounds of anything besides money or jewelry, what would it be?" (Ann's response: stuffed animals.) "If you could live in another country, where would it be?" ("In Paris, with Madeleine.") "What's the best way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon?" ("With precious family time," Ann said, apparently having been coached by her mother, my cousin Mary.)

After having been served beverages (including tiny cups for the dolls), you are practically buried in food--Cinnamon buns, apple muffins, fruit kabobs (Kit's favorite), cucumber sandwiches, chicken salad on buttermilk biscuits, pigs in a blanket, jelly sandwiches, chocolate cupcakes and vanilla ice cream. I was stuffed, although I think that Samantha was probably a little miffed that I didn't share with her as nicely as Ann did with Kit.

After such a lavish experience, I decided to make a day of it and take Samantha to the beauty salon to get her hair done (I don't do such a good job on her.) Actual, serious beauticians sit the dolls in tiny chairs and style their hair--you can request a hairstyle for them (half ponytail for Samantha) and special instructions ("Samantha needs a new look!" I wrote.) Aunt Ginger and Ann picked her up for me after they saw the American Girls Musical, so I'm excited to see how she turned out when I see them next weekend.

I was a little terrified of the prospect of this experience, and made jokes about how I would go drunk, or pretend that the doll was 'real,' or that Samantha was replacing a long-lost child of mine, but it turned out to be good, clean fun. Yes, I am an American Girl, raised on promises.

(That last line was a Tom Petty joke. The Elvis Costello concert kicked ass, by the way. Elvis: you can sing "I Want You" to me anytime.)