Oh, you don't like adorable kid stories? Well, suck an egg.

The glass windows of the storefront toy store were ringed in white Christmas lights. In the sills stood stuffed giraffes in three sizes, the largest twice as tall as L.

We walked into this locally-owned, independent wonderland of playtime, and the owner smiled. I let L wear her fancy coat even though she was wearing play clothes and we were having a lazy day.

Inside, I barely got her past the wall lined with bins of tiny toys - rubber bumblebees, tiny wooden sailboats, echoing microphones, and snakes of all colors and sizes, made of wood and rubber. She loves snakes.

Finally, I told her we had to keep walking because we had a goal. Next weekend, we would go see Santa, and although she knew she would ask for a doll, she didn't know what kind. Santa prefers details.

Past the bins, against the wall, was a lighted glass case, stretching to the ceiling. At the top were the most fragile dolls, at the bottom, plastic and cloth dolls. I pointed out an Eloise doll, with a cloth face, beautifully painted features, messy hair, untucked shirt and crooked bow - all things that symbolize Eloise's personality, with which L identifies.

There was a delicate, porcelain Madame Alexander Cinderella, barely six inches tall, with an ice blue dress frosted with silver glitter and thread. Her signature red bow lips accentuated her rosy cheeks, her hair was perfectly coiffed.

A mermaid version of Fancy Nancy stood behind the floppy Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy, who smiled sloppily, impossibly, to each side.

Next to Eloise, though, was a standing twelve-inch, vinyl Madame Alexander with a red hooded cape, dark hair and eyes and a basket. "Ohh!" L said. "Yook at the Wed Widing Hood!"

Still, she was unimpressed. We went through the store, looking at other dolls, stuffed animals, games, dress-ups and puppets. Finally, I told her we needed to decide what she wanted from Santa.

"I want to go see that Duck again," she said.

"The duck?" I asked.

"Yes, the bunny one."

"Ohhh! I know which one! That's Jemima Puddle Duck," I told her, and I led her to the back of the book section, where Jemimah rested on a high shelf.

"No, not that one," she said.

"But, this is the one next to Peter Rabbit," I told her.

"No. Not the bunny one," L corrected. "The funny one. You know. The one that squeaks?"

Confused, I led her around the store, checking out the rubber duckies (no), the chirping carved birds (no), a box of fluffy baby chicks (no again).

"L, I don't know what it is," I told her.

She started leading me around, as she looked inside shelves and around corners.

Finally, she exclaimed, "Here it is!" and fell to her knees in front of a shelf in the middle of the store.

There, she picked up a toy about the size of my hand. With dangling feet and yellow skin, it was not what I expected my sweet girl to choose.

"That, L," I told her, "Is a rubber chicken."

"That's it!" she declared. "I'm going to ask Santa for that."

Satisfied, she led me out of the store. A girl after my own heart.