2014 is Barbie’s 55th anniversary.
I looked out the window of my Dream House and allowed myself a teensy-tiny moment of reflection. How far I’d come in fifty-five years! It seemed like only yesterday I was born, fully-developed, in a secret test lab deep within the bowels of the Mattel Toy Company.
The dreaded “double-nickel,” and not a single stretch mark, even though I seem to have a daughter, Skipper, by Ken, my “on again-off again” boyfriend as my Press Site notes. On again-off again, my bony ass. He’s a shiftless, lazy, no-count loser. But I don’t like to dwell on the negative.
Some people criticize me for having a perfect, unattainable body that creates unrealistic expectations in young girls, causing them to turn up their noses at mom’s American Chop Suey and Stuffing Puppies. Well, which would you rather have–a durable, dishwasher-safe hard-plastic torso like mine, or a body that could be “attained” by every Buzz Lightyear and GI Joe on the shelf? To ask the question, as they say, is to answer it. Besides, American Chop Suey sucks.
I just wish I could spend more time with Skipper, but I seem to have shipped her off to boarding school, like some cruel parent in a W. Somerset Maugham novel. Maybe she’ll be home for Thanksgiving–check my website for updates!
You know, long before everyone got so “hip” to being “post-racial” and including black sidekicks in gangs of guys eating at Chili’s in TV commercials, I had an African-American friend–“Christie.” The Federal Trade Commission investigated after someone sent in an anonymous tip that no self-respecting black woman would ever allow herself to be called “Christie.” Because of Mattel quality control, we passed with flying persons of color!
But I’m not just racially tolerant, I’m omni-tolerant! I had a friend in a wheelchair long before you did–Becky. I had another friend with a crippling beauty handicap–glasses! Don’t believe me? Again, it’s right there on the World Wide Web, writ large so those who surf may read.
Maybe I’ll have a big family reunion for my 55th. My brother Todd and my sisters Skipper, Tutti, Stacie, Kelly and Krissy. My “gal pals” Teresa, Kira, Kayla, Becky and Christie. My BFF Midge and her husband Alan. I wonder what ever happened to Alan? I don’t remember hearing about a divorce or a death or anything. If anything ever happens between me and Ken, it’s on the front page of the National Enquirer before you can say “Holly Hobby.”
With Ken and me it’s always a “headline-generating breakup”–no thanks to the Mattel public relations department. What I wouldn’t give for Midge’s quiet life with Alan! I don’t want to end up alone in some Barbie Dream Nursing Home, with flabby bingo-arms, doddering around reliving my outfits of the past; Stewardess Barbie, Nurse Barbie, Executive Barbie, Rapper Barbie, Streetwalker Barbie.
No, all I want is . . . hey, that’s Midge down there now–with Ken! Why that freaking skank! Hey you! Yeah you, you red-headed bitch! Get your hands off my arm-candy! He may drive around all day in my dream car, and shack-up in my dream house, and never go out and get a job so he could have cool outfits like me–but he’s all I’ve got!