When I was a little girl I didn’t understand why other little girls played with Barbies. I used to see the Barbies at the store all boxed up. Encaged. I wondered what they were for. I noticed the Ken Barbie, the Beach Barbie, Red Carpet Barbie, Double Date Barbie, Principesa Barbie, etc. I examined the contents in the box. I was like, “Where’s the scratch n’ sniff sticker?” “This is boring.” “My cabbage patch doll smells like baby powder.” “Hmmm. It doesn’t do anything.” “That’s weird.” I never took interest. It didn’t do anything for me. I had never seen any of my cousins or friends play with them.

One day, I finally saw one of my friend’s play with a Barbie. She was talking funny. I was like, “What is she doing?” Then I noticed she was having a conversation with the Barbie. I was like, “Why is she doing that?” “Why is her voice squeaky?” “Does she need a cough drop?” I got scared. I became concerned. “Esta loca?” This is stupid. Why would you talk to something that doesn’t talk back? Don’t panic. Pretend this is normal. “Oh my gosh! I love Barbies!” “I’m gonna go to my house and get my Barbie!” “I’ll be back.” I hopped on my Huffy and never looked back. I loved my lavendar and pink bike with pink streamers. I loved to ride it up and down the street.

I loved to talk to myself while riding my Huffy and singing, Soul 4 Real’s, “Candy-Coated Rain Drops” on my walkman. I thought, “Wow. Barbies are soooooo stupid. I don’t need a Barbie. I already talk to myself anyway.”

My favorite childhood toy.
My favorite childhood toy.

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