The worst hiatus ever continues!
One Saturday morning, many, many Saturday mornings ago, a little girl was eating her Cheerios and watching her cartoons. It was her birthday, but no one was awake yet because no one else cared about watching animated Pound Puppies solve mysteries at 8 a.m. on a weekend.
But then, without warning, a bright pink box appeared in front of the little girl. It was a Barbie, and it was the most beautiful Barbie in the entire motherfucking world. It was Peaches 'n Cream Barbie, who was as pretty as a peach blossom and who came with a GLAMOROUS CHANGE-AROUND STOLE that you could style all sorts of interesting ways, including as a very slutty dress if you used it by itself. There was also a little Vanna White wheel with stole styles on one side and hot date destinations on the other (i.e. dinner, movie, whorehouse) to save you from having to use your imagination.
The little girl's big sister had bought Peaches 'n Cream her own self, and I swear to God, there was never a better-loved Barbie in all the land.
For about four hours.
After carefully arranging Peaches 'n Cream on the family room sofa (legs straight out, head cocked towards the television, detachable wrap-around stole a vision in peach synthetic fabric), I went to...do something else. Probably pee.
When I came back, my mother was casually sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper.
"Where's Peaches 'n Cream?" I asked.
She gestured towards a nearby heap of semi-naked Barbies and said, "Isn't she over there?"
I rolled my eyes at the sheer ignorance. Clearly, none of those dolls were Peaches 'n Cream. Those dolls were garbage. They all had hopelessly tangled hair and were missing at least one shoe. Those were yesterday's fashion dolls.
After a lot of whining and digging around the couch cushions I persuaded my mother to stand up. And that's where I found Peaches 'n Cream.
My mom had SAT on her and SMUSHED her head. She now had a big gash running from her neck to her nose. I could see the extended plastic neck and white swivelly thing through the rip in her pretty face.
Amy's Mother: horrified, yet chooses this moment to remind daughter about leaving toys on the couch where yeah, they get sat on from time to time
In the end, there was nothing anybody could do. We crazy-glued her head and left her wrapped in rubber bands overnight, only to have the wound pop open the minute anyone touched her. I never threw her out though, and everytime I was introduced to a new type of adhesive (rubber cement, Elmer's paste sticks, glue from my sister's false eyelashes), I tried to repair her.
Amy's Mother: Well, Peaches' clothes are still fine. You can dress up one of your other dolls instead. They're all the same.
Amy: THEY ARE NOT ALL THE SAME. I WILL BELIEVE THIS UNTIL I DIE. PEACHES 'N CREAM BARBIE WAS SPECIAL AND I'LL THANK YOU TO REFER TO HER BY HER FULL NAME.
I still tell this story from time to time...usually around the holidays, usually to my nieces and nephews to scare the crap out of them, and usually to make my mom really regret choosing that one instance to teach me a lesson about responsibility instead of just rushing out and buying me another damn Barbie.
Apparently, somebody was paying attention.
Thank you eBay. And thank you Jason. Although I am now faced with a dilemma. Peaches 'n Cream is quite a collectors' item now, and I'm not supposed to take her out of the box. But how can I resist that glamorous change-around stole?
(BY THE WAY: The original 1985 price tag? That is still on the box? $8.05. EIGHT DOLLARS AND FIVE CENTS. Not to be a total brat, but Mom? Don't you think it might have been worth splurging $8.05 to prevent your 8-year-old daughter who had already written four books from someday writing a book about the time you sat on her Barbie? Or even worse, writing about it on the futuristic Internet? I'm just saying.)