On Saturday morning I joined twenty-five other local bloggers for breakfast at an undisclosed location. I enjoyed catching up with those I hadn’t seen for awhile, and adding a face and a little more dimension to those I’ve only known online. I got lots of extra bacon too, thanks to the vegetarian bloggers.
The Original 1959 Barbie
I was never much into Barbie, but my big sister Debbie liked her. What I liked best was the carrying case that doubled as her closet. It had doors and hangers and stuff.
By the time my little sister, MudMama, came along, there were many more variations of Barbie. Mudmama had a Growing-Up Skipper doll: If you rotated her arm, she’d go through puberty right before your eyes. Rotate it the other way, and she’d regress back into childhood. (It was too much for my brother: he rotated that arm until the entire mechanism broke, and I can’t remember now whether Skipper got stuck for all eternity in childhood or in adolescence.)
The Barbie Photo Booth
Not impressed with Barbie
GC and I were the oldest people there and GC was the only boy. I took a picture of him and Barbie, and even though he’s an awfully good sport, I don’t think he’d want me to post it.
I also took pictures of various little princess girls posing with the Barbie models. Most of them were glowing with the awesomeness of the experience, but my favourite was this little girl who was completely unimpressed with Barbie and who scowled when told to smile. She was hilarious. If I ever have a grand-daughter, I want one just like her.
I will NOT smile so fuck off
One of the Barbies did try to give us a small child, thinking she was ours because she said she was, but we declined. (Eventually someone stepped forward and claimed her, much to Barbie’s relief.)
We saw a family with several children gathered around a table colouring pictures of Barbie. One of the children was kneeling on her chair so she could reach her colouring book. She had the body of a one-year-old but with an older face, and she was colouring neatly inside the lines like a seven-year-old. Her mannerisms were not child-like, and she was looking around the room with wise old eyes. I have never seen anyone whose age was so utterly unguessable. She could have been a year old, or she could have been five or fifteen or even twenty-five. She fascinated me.
I think I’d rather be a 50-year-old trapped in a 20-year-old’s body, like Barbie, than be an adult trapped in a toddler’s body. But then again, who wouldn’t?
50-year-old Bikini Barbies
Love that little kid! Why was the location undisclosed?
Just so we could stay one step ahead of the blogger-stalkers.
sigh. I really have to make one of those breakfasts these days….
I’m glad you confirmed the existence of Growing Up Skipperâ„¢.
Whenever I mention in passing that we coyotes saw TV ads for such a thing, people look at us funny, ask when this happened, and then nod at us in that, “Why yes! Yes, you certainly did have terrific recreational hallucinogens back then, didn’t you?!” kinda way…
I’m not sure “trapped” is quite the right word to describe a 50-year old with a 20 year old body. “Ecstatic” perhaps? Delighted? Thrilled? Euphoric? Rapturous? Better than winning the lottery?
Gosh–was it something I said?
Miss Vicky, yes, yes, you really must come sometime. The next one’s early in May, I believe.
Coyote, well you’re both right. 😉
XUP, if I had to pick a 20-year-old body to be trapped in, it wouldn’t be Barbie’s. But I take your point.
Was what something you said, Dr. Dawg?? (By the way, since I’ve got you here, why don’t you come to the May bloggers’ breakfast? Send a message to bloggersbreakfast@gmail.com to get on the list. It’s open to all Ottawa bloggers.)
Hi Zoom,
It was great to meet you on Saturday.:) Hope to see you again soon!
This week is my middle brother’s 50th birthday too. He is the middle of the nine of us with two older sisters and two younger; two older brothers and two younger. He is also the only truly ambidextrous person I have ever met; he does fine woodworking and can handle tools equally well with right or left hand. His handwriting is equally illegible done right or left. He, like Barbie, was born in the exact middle year of the ’46-’64 baby boom. Poor middle . . .
Neat this ageless sort of person we come across now and again. It always makes me think reincarnation may be credible.
I remember Skipper. A cousin or kid or younger friend of Barbie?
Happy BD Barbie. http://www.flickr.com/photos/clintonmeyer/3342383709/in/set-72157611846719682/
On Saturday morning I joined twenty-five other local bloggers for breakfast
Sob! What am Ihttp://1.bp.blogspot.com/_PLLQcmifpHo/SItsvvXJoJI/AAAAAAAABdg/h_mNmuGfLr8/s320/chooped%2Bliver.jpg…?
Wow, was that mangled or what? That was my first comment, with a delayed entry. It’s so out of place now it should be passed by with averted gaze.
I’m now on the list for these breakfasts, and look forward to them!
[…] Barbie turned fifty. I lost the Tofu Challenge. We played board games in public. A lump was found in my breast. My layoff notice was not revoked and my 18-year job came to an end. I made a sock monkey. […]