Childhood Barbie memories with an apparent bitter man hating twist at the end…I laughed when I re-read this.

      I loved the dusty playroom. When the sun soaked through the single, small window in the middle of the room the particles danced on the beams of light. The TV was covered in dust. The couch was covered in dust. The toys were covered in dust, and as I spent most of my time there I inevitably became covered in dust. My older brother was allergic to dust, so he barely went in the playroom, and I claimed it, more or less. All of my Barbie’s were always spread out on the floor, and I had my favorites. One of them, the oldest Barbie, was nose-less, due to the fact that I had eaten it. I liked to chew things…Barbie’s hands and feet, wax of any kind (particularly birthday candles), crayons. This habit went on unnoticed until my mother discovered all the wrappers of the crayons I ate in the craft closet. Upon inspection of the box, she discovered that the crayons I had been eating contained bits of  lead, called poison control, it was a whole big thing…anyway. 

     So minus her nose, the oldest Barbie was still flawlessly beautiful to me. She had sacrificed a part of her face to satisfy my taste for plastic. I made sure that she always ended up with Ken at the end of playtime. There was just the one “Ken,” not  counting the Phoebus doll that came with my Burger King meal as a promotion for that Hunchback of Notre Dam Disney movie. His body was completely fabric besides his plastic boots and armor that held his torso together. Phoebus was not a manly man, not as much as Ken looked, anyway. Ken had blue eyes and brown hair and a chiseled body, and he never ever said a derogatory word to Barbie about their relationship. He never said much of anything, in fact. Ken would also never be expected to tell Barbie that he loved her, she would have to infer that from his vacant blue eyes. Now that I think of it, Ken wasn’t that great of a guy. He only came with one outfit, a swimsuit, so he often went un-played with because he wasn’t enough of a conversationalist for my nose-less Barbie. He passed his time quietly with Phoebus, probably lamenting their lack of genitals. Barbie was too good for Ken. No nosed, chewed hands and feet, matted hair old Barbie was too good for “dashing” young Ken. Good lesson to learn from your dolls, inner beauty.

Luciana, 19  (Thinking back on 10)