Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Apology to a plastic B**ch

This pains me. I owe an apology to someone I have hated for many many years. I have come to understand at least a small bit of her life. And it really kills me to admit it. so here it goes, drum rolls please, oh my God this is hard to think of , much less write.... Barbie- I am sorry. I have always hated you for your perfect complexion, symmetrical features, impossible body, affluent lifestyle and pink corvette. I have never identified with any part of you- but now, gasp, I do. I now know how it feels to be undressed and dressed while lying there practically helpless. And I am sorry because I was never loving, gentle, or the least bit understanding. I ripped your perfect gowns off of you, wadded them up and then shoved you into the closest thing I had to barbie fatigues. I never thought about how it must feel when I pulled up your socks (wait...did Barbie ever have socks?). Or whether or not your underwear was comfortable. And any time I touched you it was with a fascinated revulsion rather than the pure love my husband used while trying to pull the socks over my comatose feet last night.

Last night my husband had to dress me. I lay there making pointed remarks about gray and brown not really matching and how clumsy my stupid legs were. How uncomfortable I was with this new development. And then I thought of Barbie. Shoot...suddenly I have something in common with Barbie.

In case you had not guessed I was not one of those little girls who doted on her Barbies. When I was three I might have thought playing Barbie was fun but by time I was in first grade she was hated. Every birthday...every granny would pick out a new Barbie for me. I tried to be grateful. After all every girl likes dolls (even dolls less freaky than Barbie), every girl wants to be a princess, and every girl likes to play house. I wanted a GI Joe, I pretended to be Thoren Oakenshield from the Hobbit, and I never pretended to be a perfect domestic goddess (after all I was Thoren and dwarfs don't appreciate fine dishes and fancy teas). To me playing house meant you had to pretend the house burned down during a nuclear holocaust and a band of survivors was crossing the unfriendly landscape, dodging enemy combatants, occasionally losing limbs to rockets and the scurvy, and finally staving to death because a vegetarian can't survive in those conditions. To quote Eddie Izzard, I was more of the running, jumping, climbing trees sort of girl.

Barbie I tried so very hard to appreciate. I would use magic marker to paint her face, shredded her clothes, gave her a buzz cut and try and helped her come to terms with her inner soldier. I then used her in warfare...she always got blown up, stabbed, and fell down precipices into raging rivers never to be seen again. I taught my sister the history of the Salem witch trials with Barbie. I demonstrated the use of the guillotine on her elongated neck. I was the perpetrator of many crimes against Barbiemanity. As I lay there last night, watching Scott struggle with my toes (which incidentally tend to curl upwards as they cramp as if I have on a pair of high heels made of air) I thought ....Freakin' Karma. I am sorry Barbie.

This morning I was feeling ever so much me like. I slept a little longer than usual. And seem to have recovered for my latest adventure of "stupid things I used to do but have discovered I no longer can do." I dressed myself. I picked out my own clothes (all good woodland colors...better for blending in with your environment). My feet are not pretending to wear hot pink stilettos. My hair didn't melt when I used the hairdryer. My skin is far from perfect and .... my smile isn't an advertisement for a minty whitening toothpaste that also glues your lips into a perfect smile. So I did not transform into Barbie overnight...good thing since I really have problems with Ken. But it has stayed with me. Karma....So I thought I'd publicly apologize...sorry Barbie. But she better remember this day forever because this is going to be the first and last time in history that a disabled person is going to apologise to the plastic bitch.


Elizabeth McClung said...

Well, you did a great job blogging the pain in a funny way on this one. My first comment and second and third thoughts was; "Are you SURE you are straight" becuase you described pretty much what every little dyke does to her barbie (well except the femmes, I guess) right down to wanting the G.I. Joes - but since you quickly graduated to swords maybe you were just straight AND adventure girl.

Now if you had done that to your Cabbage Patch dolls, I would be MORE than disturbed. Of course, if you noticed that you do have the barbie dimensions. Then, well, I envy AND Hate you (and you have a push up bra).

Shauna said...

You had me chuckling and recalling my own Barbie and other doll memories. Thank you for that. And I'm adding you to my blog roll by the way...