Shoulder Pads Make me Feel Like a Big Girl

I never had a "thing" for stuffed animals like other kids. Dawn and I have had the "stuffed animals versus Barbie" conversation a few times - Dawn being a fan of the animals (no surprise there), and me staying loyal to my little plastic fashion icon. And I'm proud to say it's never escalated to an all out brawl (verbal or otherwise), but during one of our conversations, I did discover something: I figured out exactly WHY I couldn't get enough of Barbie, and why I never cared about anything in the category of plush. (Who else hates that word? Using "plush" makes me feel like I should be wearing Mom Jeans at a Beanie Baby collectors' convention.)

It all makes sense to me now. As a kid, I obsessed over being older. Looking older, acting older, being treated older than my actual age, dressing older....etc. Growing up and being the "baby" of the family (and being oddly mature for my age. No, really; I was a weird kid in comparison. Ask me how old I was when I had most Neil Diamond songs memorized.), I got the cheek-pinching, "you're so cute that I'm compelled to talk down at you" routine on a pretty constant basis. My reactions, consequently, led to the assumption that I was the shy one of the family when in reality, I wasn't shy - I was actually scowling at the offender and internally resenting her while crafting a scathing comeback. As a 5 year old, people.

(Hang in there - the connection to Barbie is coming up.)

So, it stands to reason that I WOULD love a doll that wore heels every day (even while performing surgery as Medical Barbie. What a woman!), drank coffee, traveled to Hawaii on a whim, drove a fancy car (drove, in general), had a boyfriend, and carried a pink briefcase until the work day morphed into nightlife and she busted out the Donna Summers-inspired sequins. Sigh.

That infatuation with Barbie either started or perpetuated my Fantasy Adult Life. Enter, mom's high heels. I'd stuff those pumps so thick with toilet paper to MAKE them fit, that my feet ended up feeling like I was the victim of traditional Chinese foot binding. But the sound those heels made on the tile floor was magical.

Next up on my premature and forced journey to adulthood, was watching Moonlighting much earlier than any child should watch (and misunderstand) the subtle flirtations of two attractive, single New Yorkers, hinting at the wild chemistry that would eventually show itself amidst the witty banter. Ditto for Diane Keaton's turn in Baby Boom. (I know. I can't figure out how I ended up watching this stuff, either. You'd think my parents put out a big bowl of food for us kids and left us for days on end with t.v. and marshmallows to keep us company.) I've seen that movie more times than makes sense, and watching Diane Keaton's character set me up for the lifestyle I planned on having when I grew up: The lifestyle that would have me walking to my corporate job in a powersuit and pumps, typing away at my computer with my long acrylic nails, and then meeting Bruce Willis for drinks in his penthouse. Totally reasonable.

So, there it is - the answer to the question, "Why no stuffed animals, Michelle?" Because stuffed animals don't go on dates or have elevators in their houses or wear leg warmers (on any occasion) or play the synthesizer in a band named after them. That's why.

Also, Barbie has great hair.

just michelle