Circle of friends

When I was a little girl, I loved the American Girl books, about strong, smart, cool, resourceful and historically accurate girls -- each with her own complete line of outfits and accessories. An unofficial sampling of women who grew up with American Girl will likely reveal that most of them favored Samantha, but my favorite girl was Molly, possibly because I admired her pluck as a young girl during World War II and possibly just because I coveted her round glasses and adorable yellow rain slicker.

I always, always, always wanted a Molly doll (okay, let's be honest: I always, always, always wanted the complete set of Molly gear that cost a cool $600), but I never got one, because she cost $89 and I already owned every Cabbage Patch Doll ever produced, including the babies.

In fact, I never knew anyone who actually owned an American Girl doll until I grew up and made friends with Marissa, Julia and Hannah, who between the three of them owned Felicity, Samantha and not one but two Molly dolls, and who for the past seven years or so have listened to my wistful, all-consuming desire to own Molly.

So today at the American Girl store (because the way Mattel have synergized and consumerized what used to be a humble little historical fiction book series is nothing short of amazing), Marissa and Hannah secretly made me the elated owner of a miniature Molly. Outside on Fifth Avenue as we excitedly tore open the box and carefully placed Molly's tiny plastic glasses on her tiny plastic face, tourists on the tops of two separate double-decker buses stared down at us. One took a picture.

Plans for an American Girl sleepover, at which we will all do our hair to match our dolls', are already in the works. And now, thanks to my friends, sixteen years or so after I first fell for them, I too will have an American Girl doll to play with.