Betty. Her name was Betty. Betty with the beautiful eyes. Blue, blue, blue. Long, dark lashes. Soft, blond hair. Didn't weigh more than a pound. (Beat) My absolute favourite doll. Barbie was too bony. Her tits scared me. And I never trusted Ken. Too perfect. But Betty was mine. (Pause) I can't remember exactly what it was I'd done, but I'd done something to make my mother angry. Really angry. She must've been having a hard day. Yeah, I'm sure she was just having one of those days. I was about five, maybe six. I probably did what every five year old does atonetime or another, something that makes a parent'seyes turn funny. I said I was sorry. But that wasn't good enough. That's not good enough, young lady. My mother must have told me that about a thousand times. Do you know what happens to young girls who misbehave? That's when she did it. I begged her not to, but she wouldn't have any of it. She plops Betty onto a tray and throws her into the oven. Soon there's this awful smell filling the kitchen. I stood there, practically blind for all the tears in my eyes. My mother walks in every ten minutes to check on Betty. "Look, June. Look what's happening to Betty". And she made me look, making me promise I'd always behave. Betty's arms and legs were melting, melting and her hair was sizzling. On it went, `til there was nothing left but a puddle of Betty, and two blue eyes.