Relative Happiness

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. And she had a little doll.

The doll was pretty; it had a pretty pink dress, pretty pouty lips, pretty perplexed eyes... 

(I wanted to write "pretty blue eyes" because, of course, blue eyes are the epitome of prettiness, but it would have affected my awesome alliteration). 

In short, the doll was pretty. Period.

But the little girl was not happy. She was bored with her pretty doll and she thought that if she had a prettier doll, maybe she will be happier.

So she cried and cried, threw tantrums for a week, until she finally got what she wanted. She got her prettier doll.

And she was happy.

For two weeks.

Then she got bored again.

So she wanted something... more.

And to that effect, she cried and cried some more, till she finally got a dollhouse for her prettier doll. She played with her doll. Had tea parties with it. Took it out on a stroll of the garden. Dressed her up. Tucked her in.

It was as if she finally had what she always wanted.

For the next two months.

And then the little girl got bored again.

All this while the pretty doll stayed in a corner. Left out, left alone. The little girl never once turned to her.

But then one day, the house where the little girl stayed caught fire. Firefighters rushed to the house to douse the fiery flames. The little girls parents rushed into her room and pulled her out. 

But her dollhouse! And her prettier doll! What about them? 

They had no time.

So she scooped the first thing she could find and held on to it dearly, as her parents scooped her up and rushed out of the house.

The little girl and her little family watched the blazing fire eat away their pretty little house. 

And the little girl clutched the pretty doll a little tighter.