Life of a dummy

I wonder what it would be like to be a dummy, a display doll, a mannequin (fashionably speaking of course) who stands there at a shop window and stares at the streets, the passers by, smiling, never flinching, starring, with their big hollow eyes, empty carved lips gleaming red. I wonder how it feels to not feel at all, to just stare blankly at the passing vehicles, letting themselves be dressed and undressed by complete strangers frequently, at unexpected times.

I wish I was a dummy without emotions, without moods, without feelings that get hurt by the slightest things. Nobody would ask me why I sound so emotionless then, nobody will ask what I feel, I would not have to analyse, think or worry. I would like to be a dummy for a few days, not forever though, just for a little while.  Since I do feel numb and emotionless like a dummy these days, why not actually be a dummy for a couple more days?

Well, all I would have to do is dress up, smile and look pretty all the time. No assignments, no thesis, no translations, no internal conflicts or exams will bother me, ever. I shall be called the occasional dummy of course, once in a while. But then I would tell them to call me a "mannequin", much more sophisticated and posh-sounding, don't you think?

No wolf whistles or crude remarks by those who call themselves "male" on the roads, nobody would try to grab what they can and they would just fling a glance at my direction and distract themselves again with something female, warm and moving, not bothering to glance back again at an unfeeling doll. I would even be able to flaunt myself in sexy, smothering, smoking hot, sinfully seductive lingerie in a shop window and no one would even bother glancing back a second time. Because plastic is cold. Cold and hard, not soft, supple and sensitive like human flesh. Plastic is so much more less appealing and essentially an anti-pervert material than human skin any day.

Plus, I would always be in shape. That maybe due to the fact that I will not have to eat, but then, I wouldn't shrivel up and die either due to malnutrition if I were a mannequin either. If I get dusty and discolored, a good brush down and a thorough suck of the vacuum cleaner should do the trick. No need for hours and hours in the shower, washing off all that dust, muck and grit off the hair. And all that is required of me will be to put on that smiley/ pouty/ happy/ mysterious/ open-mouthed/ deranged and creepy laughing look of mine and stand/ sit there in a hip-breaking pose, smile/ pout/ frown/ laugh/ scowl and look pretty. I would even change my pose every now and then as an added bonus if I felt generous. And that's coz I'm thoughtful like that! Hmpf!

I wonder how it would feel like to be numb, inside and out. And hollow. Must feel quite light and floaty inside, there is no real weight, there is this huge, empty void inside that can never be filled. And one will always be hungry, yearning and longing, desperate to fill that space with something, anything. Plastic skin does not disintegrate, it does not feel, as far as I know. And it does not care. Oh how good it would feel not to care for once in my life! I do deserve several days of not caring you know. All the caring for everything and everyone else but myself has left me quite drained.

I would not be able to dance though. Oh, I would not be able to be as pliable as I am, to feel the thigh muscles, the abs, the waist line stretch and bend so effortlessly as I would like to. I would miss the feeling of supple body flow, liquid-like movements that make me believe that I, indeed am flying. I would miss that wonderful feeling of freedom in my bones, my limbs and the folding of my skin at every bend, at every stretch and at every twist.

I would not lose that for the world. Oh no. Dancing makes me feel alive. Even in the most darkest hours. I'm quite addicted to the bend and stretch of everyday life :)

I have often associated dummies, or mannequins (in the true glory of the word) with vanity, conceit and selfishness for reasons still quite unknown to myself. As a child I had believed that people get reborn as dummies for the sin of vanity and selfishness in their previous lives, a fact that I (now that I'm older and much, much wiser, ahem) know is not true. Well, now that I think about it, I do know quite a few specimen of the female species that I had often thought of as dummies (pardon me)  "mannequins" in my head over and over again. I picture them just standing there, never smiling, not a drop of blood on their faces, not feeling, full of hatred for those who could feel, selfish, conceited, insensitive and hollow, true "mannequin" style. They think of no one else but themselves at any given time and are sly enough to hide it in the depth of their hollow, plastic, emotionless existence, leading people to believe otherwise. Well, mannequins are intended to fool the eyes, lure unsuspecting idiots into buying things that they do not need. They are however, not smart enough to figure out that a lie can only last so long.

There is a reason that they are called "dummies" after all.    

I just changed my mind. I do not want to be a dummy. I would miss my human state, the hugs and kisses, the joys and the banes all too much. I would miss my dancing, the supple swerve of muscles and limbs. I would miss the love, the hate, the care, the longing and even the petty fights and the beautiful making up sessions afterwards. I would hate to miss out on all that. Although being a numb and senseless dummy does seem very much appealing sometimes.