Barbie

This is the most important day of my life! Well, maybe after the birth of my son and the day I finally got married. I am buying my granddaughter’s first Barbie!

Puddin’ is turning three in a few days and her parents took her to look at toys, just to see what sparked her interest. She’s a good girl. She went straight for the Barbies.

I will now reveal that I am officially older than dirt because I had the very first Barbie. I got her for Christmas in 1959. She came with a bathing suit and a black evening gown.  She was of meager means back then. She had no house. She had no Corvette. Heck, she didn’t even have Ken. She was a single gal.  But she did have something that a doll had never had before. She had boobs. And a teeny, tiny waist that was the subject of controversy as some thought it encouraged young girls to develop an unhealthy body image. Oh, rubbish. I loved my Barbie and it never occurred to me once that I should look like her.

So I head over to the local toy store to shop for Barbies, and there she is! A replica of my first Barbie, exactly as I remembered her. But this is 2011 and Barbie has come a long way. I pause and momentarily think of buying the 1959 Barbie for Puddin’ but she will not get the nostalgic connection. My mother once told me that she felt sorry for me because I had too many choices in life. That is the case with Barbie. Should I get Barbie the veterinarian? Or Barbie the teacher? Or the Farrah Fawcett Barbie?

I settle on one with three outfits and then realize I would be making a terrible mistake. There are teeny tiny shoes and purses. I vowed when Noah was younger that I would not inflict teeny tiny objects on young parents. I stepped on way too many Legos. I put her back and then spy the perfect choice. A jaunty Barbie riding a Vespa! There may be some issue with buying foreign but I can get Puddin’ the Barbie Corvette later. And the house, of course. But I don’t know about Ken. I don’t think I’m ready for Puddin’ to be ready for Ken. I know her father isn’t.