It’s funny how Tar-jay has become the hang-out of the toddler set. You are bound to see other mom’s and the occasional nanny making endless circuits of the aisles when our list of activities has reached its unfortunate end. We found ourselves in and among that group just the other day. Meandering from the women’s department into and through shoes, we found ourselves in the toy department. As we passed by rows of puzzles and Bratz and Matchbox Cars, Morgan declares, “Um, Mommy. I need Barbie as Rapunzel.”

“Oh, you don’t say,” I keep pushing our cart down the aisle glancing. “You have a mermaid Barbie at home that you don’t even play with.”

Exasperated sigh that I didn’t expect to hear for at least another 12 years. “She’s broken, so I need Barbie as Rapunzel!”

Ugh, I regret the day that Barbie ever crossed our threshold. I thought I would be able to stave her off for another few years, but no. In fact, I actually invited her in when I brought Barbie as Princess of the Nile home from a consignment shop.

Interesting side note: Barbie a Princess of the Nile was sold to us for $3 at this consignment store. Her box was missing the top and bottom, but she was secured to the packaging, had all of her accessories and everything. Mo was desperate to play with her, so I “freed” her from her restraints using my house key, pretty much obliterating the box. By the time we got home, her crown was snapped in two, her decorative neck ware hanging askance. At home, I put Mo and Co down for a nap – this was around Halloween 2007 — and as I had never heard of such a doll, I googled Barbie as Princess of the Nile online. New, in the box, mint condition, the doll retails at $129.97. I just bought one for $3. Wow.

But, I digress. The Princess moved in and has brought with her Barbie Mermaid, Barbie Ballerina, Barbie Prima Ballerina (totally different from the former), and several other variations of Barbie as mythical, fantastical, and princess-ified. Oh, what have I done?

Back in my formative years, I fancied myself a poet and truly found a voice in sestinas, acrostics, haiku and free verse. I spent a better part of a college semester writing poetry about Barbie and her flaws and faults. I haven’t looked at these in about 10 years put the recent deluge of Barbies underfoot has made me revisit some pieces. I submit for your perusal. . .

Reality Check Barbie

I didn’t know Barbie’s hair was made of plastic
’til I tried to curl it with a curling iron.
Layers of long, luxurious locks
wrapped around the barrel,
sizzled and popped, blistered and hiccuped.
Sounded like bacon frying.
Smelled like driving with my brother —
burnt rubber and hot asphalt.
Looked as though Barbie was going to get a new ‘do,
a much shorter ‘do.
Real short.

So Barbie wasn’t like me after all,
with her dunes of plastic
contained by no bra.
Sold separately
She doesn’t even have nipples!
And what kind of woman shaves her pubic hair,
leaving a cameo as slick as a bald head?

She’s disproportionate.
Any real woman with those dimensions
would topple over,
chest first,
all internal organs pinched, cinched, and punctured.
She has bovine eyes that never close,
biceps perpetually contracted,
fingers that don’t waggle “hello”, make a fist or flip you off,
feet that are arched to fit only the highest of heels,
and a mouth that never frowns.

Is she really happy?
If I had Barbie Dream House
Barbie Jacuzzi,
Barbie 5th Avenue Wardrobe,
Barbie Limited Edition Mercedes Benz Convertible
I might smile, too.

But I like to pout and frown
and blink,
and have breasts that don’t give me back pain.
I like to cut my hair and have it grow back,
even raise my arms to dance.
And way back when, when I was Barbie’s
personal assistant
dressing, undressing, styling, combing
I didn’t kow she wasn’t like me. . .
Isn’t like me. . .
Not. Me.