Barbie Shmarbie

Barbie Shmarbie

Have you seen the Barbie movie? Have you seen it more than twice? Did you love it? Was it so good that you can totally understand why it has made over a billion dollars. A. BILLION. DOLLARS.

No, I have not seen it. I do not plan on seeing it. My sister, on the other hand, has seen it more than once and loved it. Of course, my sister is smarter and more well-adjusted than I am, so maybe there is something to seeing a movie that has made over a billion dollars, but I need to be different. It is the middle child in me. Though if I were good at math, I would try to figure out how many people have to see a movie for it to make that much money. Or how many people would have to see the movie more than once in order to make that much money. And now I will probably have my recurring dream about having to take a math final and not remembering the combination to my locker. Oh well. Let’s move on.

I am pretty sure that I have written before about my relationship with Barbie. I would get them, and after a little while, I would cut off their hair. Did I really think that it would grow back? We will go with that. My sister would treasure her dolls. Take really good care of them. Save the boxes they came in. Me? I did not do that. Maybe that is why I did not do that. Yes, blame it on being the middle child.

My Ballerina Barbie fared the worst. She came with a crown attached to her head so I could delicately twirl her, because that is what ballerinas do. Except for Banji the Ballerina, who did not twirl, but stomped around like the agile hippopotamus from the movie “Fantasia.” (If you don’t know what I am talking about, google “Fantasia,” and there you will see where I made my movie debut.) My brief stint as a ballerina has left a lifelong impact on my psyche. Though my fondest memory was that once, when my dad was driving me home, one of his tires blew out and we got to walk home together.

In any event, my Ballerina Barbie met the same fate as all my other Barbies. I cut off her hair, but the crown was permanently attached to her head. I tried to pull it off, believe me I did, but her whole head would have come off in the process, so there was a bald ballerina with just a crown on her head. Poor thing.

When my boys were little, I found a whole case filled with Barbies in different stages of very bad haircuts. I decided it might be scary for my little guys, for more reasons than one, so they never were exposed to them.

And now I have my little Strudel and Danish, and I am not allowed to get them Barbies, for more reasons than one, and that is okay. I am a lot more comfortable with Legos and Magna-Tiles then I am with dolls, so, thank God, that has worked in my favor. We also have an extensive collection of Beanie Babies and stuffed animals, and Strudel loves all of them. Danish, of course and unfortunately, has never met them, but maybe after Danish’s mom reads this, it will guilt her and Son #2 into coming to visit.

With the popularity of the Barbie movie have come many Barbie-related posts on social media. Women posting pictures of what they wore to the movie, lots of pink and sparkly accessories. Pink jeans — where does one get pink jeans from? Did they wash white jeans in the same machine as a red sweatshirt? Anyway, these pictures just reaffirm my stance on not going to see the movie.

But my very favorite Barbie-related post has been Carbie, the Barbie who eats carbs. How can you not love a full-figured Barbie? A few years ago, in an attempt to become more “body positive,” Mattel came out with a larger Barbie. Of course if you used math to break down her measurements into a clothing size, she was still smaller than most humans, but at least they tried. Okay, they didn’t try very hard, but they tried nonetheless.

So, will you go see the movie now? Please let me know what you are wearing….

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck spent the weekend with her adorable Strudel.
And on Sunday morning she said, “It’s not Shabbos, it’s Sunday, let’s play with crayons.” Yup, Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck loves that kid. Poo poo poo….

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