The Smurf Key To My Heart

I had a major Smurf obsession as a child. I wasn't too interested in the cartoon, that was just an added bonus. My main focus of concentration was on the little figurines. Making matters worse, much worse, was the fact that my best friend Yvonne had every single character known to man. You see, Yvonne was German. That was her rationale, not mine. She'd say it and shrug, as if it to say 'Silly American girl, in Germany we shake the Smurfs off the Smurf trees and gather them in the aprons of our fraulein dresses.'

She had worker Smurfs, party Smurfs, musician Smurfs, athletic Smurfs (including weightlifter Smurf). She even had in her possession the crowning glory of Smurfdom, the Smurf house. It was a brilliant technicolor toadstool, big enough to fit Smurfs inside, and it had a WORKING key. I became fixated with that key like a hobbit on a ring. Immediately upon entering her room, I'd run to the Smurf house and want to lock and unlock the door. I can still see that damn key, it haunts my dreams.

So the other day when I saw this display when walking through the toy store, I was brought to a dead halt.



My husband, seeing my apoplectic state and thinking perhaps I'd swallowed a bug or was just coming to the realization that I'd had a major stake in Lehman Bros., came over to help me out. "Get the camera, get the camera!" I shrieked. Apparently unable to use my hands to get the camera myself, I was now uselessly flapping them like baby bird wings.

New this season are KKK Smurf and Psychic Vampire Smurf (AKA Zombie Stockbroker Smurf).



I was strong that day. There was a 50/50 chance I walked out of there with $500 worth of blue plastic. In the end, I didn't even buy one. Thanks to blogging and camera phones, I can be satisfied with Flickr uploads and a blog post about the majesty, the awesomeness, the spectacle that is: The Smurfs. Plus, the ability to now refer to my blog as "that place where I talk about Smurfs" is totally prize enough.