Middle-Aged Barbie

     Age has brought a deeper understanding between myself and Barbie.
    When I get off work at night I like to eat popcorn and watch television. I don't smoke, but a glass of wine often accompanies my private party on the couch. Yes I have pink slippers. Barbie and I have truly become kindred spirits. Have you ever seen Barbie smile so big?

    When I was young, I loved my Barbie doll. She was my best friend, but oh how I envied her lifestyle. I was jealous of her. Of course when I played with her I never had her sitting on the couch alone. Never.

Barbie was an extension of me, a way to escape into a magical place with coordinating clothing, permanent make up and straight shimmery hair. She lived in my Barbie "dream house." I lived in a tract home with a pesky little brother. She was the dream me. 

I will always be grateful to  Barbie for she helped develop my creativity  through the pretend conversations and imagined scenarios we had together. I breathed life into her and she taught me to play.

   My Barbie rode horses, danced in gowns and kissed dashing Ken on the beach.  Now I bet Barbie as seen above on the couch would be fine if Ken was safely tucked beneath his sleep apnea machine while she watched a rerun of Gilmore Girls.

   For I'm certain now for middle-aged Barbie, as for myself, it is just too much work to choose the right outfit, totter on high heels and make small talk with people we don't like anymore. Barbie, at 50, is content with a bowl of popcorn, a remote and letting it all hang out.  Skipper, the little sister, Midge, the best friend, or even Ken, don't need to be hanging around all the time, either. There's always email. 

   This is the Barbie I grew up with. How I coveted that chic black and white suit.  Alas, my breasts did not point as high, my legs were not as long and my lips did not stay permanently cherry-colored. My eyes were not blue or my hair the color of honey. I both hated and loved her. Still I wanted to be her.

This is how I looked in a bathing suit at the age when I was playing with my Barbie doll. I remember looking at this photo even as a little girl and thinking...I am fat! And so it began. I should have saw a tough little cookie in her tank suit ready to swim across the Wisconsin lake. But no. I saw a fat tummy. Barbie I curse you. I forgive you because I know  you can't fit into that black and white suit anymore, that your cellulite jiggles and your boobs no longer point to the stars. And the dark eyeliner makes you look even older. 

     I'm convinced Barbie's body influence is bigger than we know. It may have even contributed to articles like this recent one  titled: How to Lose Cankles. Perhaps you didn't even know you had cankles much less needed to lose them. Cankles are wrinkles on the ankles. Why isn't the entire world working on this problem? Put aside cancer and terrorism and let's get to solving the cankle problem. That there were even several steps sited on how to erase ankle wrinkles makes me wonder about the person who wrote this  article. She must have grown up with a perfect-body Barbie. One of the earth shattering ways to lose wrinkles on your ankles is diet and exercise. How innovative. 

    There are new Barbies these days of all shapes, sizes and ethnic groups.This is good for the young girls who need role models other than skinny white blondes. For us older gals, my new role model is the Barbie on the couch eating popcorn. I love her.  We are one. Of course, Barbie and I must now and then get off the couch, put on street clothes, and go out in public. Ken was not a millionaire, after all. He just dressed as if he was one.

    Thankfully there is a new invention that both Barbie and I appreciate. We are both waiting for the cankle version. And neither of us will ever stop wearing bathing suits even if we have to wear a spanx beneath. We made a pact. That's what cankle sisters do.