Barbies in My Life

 

I haven’t seen the Barbie Movie yet, but I will at some point. I still have my Barbie and Ken dolls. They live in tattered boxes in my closet. Barbie’s ears once had earrings but they changed the color of her plastic skin. There are suggestions on the Internet with remedies for the green skin, but I haven’t tried anything yet.

My original Barbie was a very cheap imitation of the real thing. My parents didn’t have much money for brand names. But like most cheap imitations, my original Barbie’s hair fell out. I was visiting at my grandmother’s house at the time and decided to hold a funeral for the bald fake Barbie. My cousins and sisters attended. However, after I thought about it, I figured I could make a wig for the doll out of black thread. So, I exhumed fake Barbie and sewed a bunch of thread together and glued it to her head. 

Around that time, I started babysitting and was able to gather enough cash together to buy a real Barbie and later a Ken. 

Since my sisters were considerably younger, I continued playing with dolls for quite a while. I made clothes out of scraps of fabric and my sisters joined in. The clothes weren’t fancy. We didn’t have patterns. We didn’t hem anything and we often simply tied a thinner scrap of fabric around the waist to hold everything together, but he ball gowns were beautiful in our imaginations. However, when I could I purchased genuine Barbie clothing, but it was terribly expensive—so I didn’t buy much. It was more fun to cut up fabric and pretend.

As I have said before, writing is like playing with dolls--only there are no dolls. There are characters in my head and I manipulate them while writing down the scenes. And since I write romance, there will be a happy ending. 

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