I'd rather have moths

A lovely new dolly arrived and she smells. Not the "oh, I'll air her out" or "all she needs is a good wash" stink, but a horrifying deep down body funk. Her hair, face, legs, torso, arms, everything reeks to high heaven.

I provided Marty, the greatest stench-detector since black light, with a sample clothing item in a sealed plastic bag and made her open it outside in a parking lot so she could inhale exhaust fumes to recover. Instead, she stuck her face right in there, didn't die, and diagnosed it as mothballs.

It's clear the doll was made out of mothballs formed into plastic because I have tried everything to de-funk her and I have gotten nowhere. Numerous baths and washes with increasingly harsher soaps, airing her out, scolding her, nothing works. She is now sealed up in a jar with some activated charcoal in the hopes her stink will flow out of her and into the charcoal, like demon possession and a donor child.

I've named her Barrett after Marty's stinky childhood neighbors, who did not smell like mothballs but were nevertheless offensive to the nostrils.

I sent Chocodilly in to comfort Barrett in her confinement but her new Volks body revealed itself as too expressive.