Hola, mi querida.
Dora was thrilled to be out of the big storage bin - ah, the fresh air! Ah, this world of white!
But then.... What were they going to do? ¿Qué está sucediendo? - What is happening?
¡Hola! Mis amigos, necesitamos hablar... Dora tried again, realizing that her hard plastic lips weren't actually talking and that the screaming was all in her head.
But by then, it was too late. Whirling around the yard, steadily dizzier and her skin prickling from the unaccustomed cold, all Dora could think was...
Mierda. Espero que uno de ellos me consiga un suéter.*
*Shit. I hope one of them gets me a sweater.