Respect Authority

Dear Barbie, 

We’re friends, right? I mean, we hung out for awhile, years even, back in the day. I treated you well. You had that house, with the completely unnecessary elevator, and the swing out front. It was pretty luxurious, all things considered — even when Ken and Skipper stayed over. Plus, you had the camper if you really needed to get away - and the jeep. The convertible, the horse, there might have even been a short-lived flirtation with a boat?

So it’s as your friend, and former provider, that I want to talk to you about something. I want you to know I’m saying all of this out of love — after all you gave me some great years, probably saved me from a lot of potentially traumatic adolescent social interaction. Who knows, without you I might be two times as extroverted and confident, though perhaps three times less adept at handling miniature clothing. These are the trade-offs we make. 

In any case, happy birthday. I know, you must have been worried there for a second - that I’d go two whole paragraphs without mentioning your big day. Fifty - man, that’s impressive. You look great too, not a day over 35. Have you had work done? Don’t answer that. Regardless, you look great. That waistline!

But I’m getting sidetracked. Well, sort of. See, what I wanted to talk to you about is this whole birthday thing. I’m happy for you, I really am, I think it’s great that you’re out there - embracing your age, making it okay to be over the hill (as long as you’ve still got a 18-inch waist) - but don’t you think this sort of “Look at me, look at me” stuff is a little, well, young for you? I hesitate to say it, but maybe a little …immature?

I mean, the Fashion Week sponsorship was clutch - really classy. I was even willing to forgive the wall of Barbies that spelled out the word “Barbie” under the tent. A little gratuitous, sure, but still within your rights as a successful woman, a former model/flight attendant/doctor/astronaut such as yourself. 

But since then, you know, the media coverage, the front-page stories, the special merchandise - don’t you think we’ve reached the threshold here? Aren’t we a little old to be commanding weeks’ worth of birthday attention? Isn’t it time to pass the buck of fame on to your lessers, young Skipper and poor redheaded friend Midge, Hawaiian Kira and Ken’s oft-forgotten brother Kevin? Shouldn’t they get a little recognition for having lasted this long? Shouldn’t they get a little taste of the spotlight?

Now don’t get upset. It’s not that I think you’re old or anything, it’s not that I think you’ve lost your glamour. But you’ve been stringing Ken along for years - word is you guys are even separated; all I’m saying is maybe it’s time to settle down, pop out a few babies, start thinking about an early and exceedingly wealthy retirement.

But really, you look great. I mean, keep up the hard work. And when you’re ready to take a breather, your two-story chateau will be waiting, elevator and all.

Love,
Kira