I'm a big dollhouse fan. It's not even so much the playing with the dolls in the house, per se, but the arranging of the dolls' stuff in the tiny little houses that I find so magical. I used to drive my friends crazy when I was little, because I never really wanted to play with them. I just wanted them to go dress the dolls and drive them around in their mini coupe while I arranged the furniture to my heart's content.
There was one friend in particular who had a dollhouse I truly coveted. This dollhouse. Every time I went to her house I virtually ignored her in favor of her doll mansion's sprawling terrace and charming old fashioned bathroom fixtures.
Fifteen years later, the charm has not worn off. This exquisitely detailed dollhouse showed up at our house two days ago:
My sweet mom has fulfilled my lifelong dream of owning the Playmobil Mansion. Now I can die happy.
Tragically, though, my mom gave me this gift only with the stipulation that I must share it with her granddaughter:
Oh well. She's pretty good about taking turns.