Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not a neo-feminazi about to curse out
Barbie and all her minions for having the waist-size-to-boob ratio of a
Narrow-Waisted Predatory Wasp or for giving 10-year olds anorexia or causing them to become too clueless to vote. No, this is All About Me.
I
never had a Barbie. Correction: I had A. Barbie. One
lousy stinking Barbie with mouse-brown hair. And I'd page through
the tiny catalogs that showed the Entire Barbie Universe and her
gorgeous wardrobe collection and sigh over the knee-high go-go boots
and the leather vest with the long fringe that completed the Barbie
Retro Sixties outfit, or the Sparkly Diaphanous Ball Gowns, and roll my
eyes heavenward and say a silent prayer. That always went
unanswered. And my one singular mouse-brown Barbie with the
homemade outfits cleverly crafted from Kleenex were simply not good
enough to join the ranks of the multi-Barbie-owning neighborhood girls.
In other words? I could have been popular, IF I had owned multiple Barbies. Duh
Read More...
