Getting The Real Story From a Five Year Old

The other day, Bugs came home from a friend's house with this weird doll thing made from a bedpost that she said "Polly gave it to me me". Who's Polly? Polly isn't one of Bug's friends that I know of. Turns out, she's her friend's next door neighbor. Ok.

"Why did Polly give you that?" I ask.

"She gave it to Lindsey!" Bugs says. Ok. That's clear as mud.

"Well then why do you have it?"

"She gave it to me!"

Alright, I think. Whatever. If someone really wants this thing, someone will call. At this point, I'm not really expecting anyone to call. Have you seen this doll? It's odd - like from the 1970's or something.
A few days later, I'm still wondering who Polly is - not like I'm worried because if Bug's friend's mother lets her daughter play with Polly then I'm sure she's harmless. I trust this friend's mom. So Bugs is prancing around with the artifact from the Natural History Museum and I say, "so is Polly a kid?"

"No."

"Why did she give Lindsey the doll?"

"Because she was on the floor in her garage and Lindsey saw her."

"Did she fall?"

"Yeah. She's old and she can't get up." A-ha. It's making sense.

"She's old?"

"Yeah. She's really old. She has bumpy skin - really REALLY bumpy skin."

I see now. It's all in the details.