Never a doll moment: Living the dream

 "I cannot believe I turned down Savannah's offer to swim with a water buffalo," I grumbled as I stuffed my sausage thighs into skin-tight fluorescent pink floral disco pants. Sydney and I had spent an hour detangling my fringed velvet vest. We were meeting our friend Kendall and her sister Leena at a pop-up Barbie experience in San Diego. 

Yeah. You read that right.

Amy, did you even own a Barbie when you were a little girl?

No. But I DID own her horse. 

Did Sydney have a Barbie growing up?

No. Although we did get her a knock-off Mermaid Barbie. She was more of a Poly-Pocket girl.

So...

Wow. Judge much? Sydney and I do love our memorable experiences. Be it whale-watching atop camels, driving six hours to try out for the Star Wars movie, or dressing like Marilyn at the hotel from Some Like It Hot, Sydney and I enjoy moderately-safe, physically-limited, costume-encouraged, contained adventure. 

So...

Here we were. Plastered in pink...my slightly nervous, somewhat self-conscious but very excited group approached the doors to Barbie's playhouse...

...and were immediately greeted by a warm, slightly animatronic voice which sang out:  Hello, Barbie! to every single one of us. Hostess Barbie met us with a welcoming smile as she waited. I shook my head...feeling momentarily disoriented in this dream-like state...I was rudimentarily familiar with this world and the language of this land floated, just out of reach, at the back of my mind. Still she waited while I searched for a suitable response. Oh! Of course!

Hello, Barbie!

She laughed happily and led us immediately to our table as we stared in wonder at the walls, the floor, the ceiling...had we been miniaturized and molded to fit into Barbie's universe?  Was that a roller skating rink? 

Food Server Barbie approached.

"Hello, Barbies," she smiled, handing us all menus. 

"Hello, Barbie," we responded dutifully.

We sat in stunned silence as we studied our menus. Was that candied bacon? There was a design-your-own-dream-cupcake option? We could order a cupcake BOAT? Oh my goodness, my orange ice cream float came in its own Barbie car! I was NEVER-EVER going to leave Barbie's Dream House.

But even as Bartender Barbie effortlessly kept 'em comin' ("Hello, Barbies," she yelled over the blender. "Hello, Barbie," we yelled back.), I was plagued with the idea that something just wasn't right. Not with Barbie's Dream House. Barbie's Dream House was PERFECT. Me. There was something wrong with me. It may have been that my low-waisted disco pants had crept down, inviting my very-practical-panties to play peek-a-boo. It may have been that the fringe along the back of my velvet vest daringly dipped down to double as an uninvited thong. 

This wasn't me, I thought, as I was smilingly stuffed into the Barbie packaging box. I wasn't pink and poofy and plastic. I grimace when people call me by my actual name...let alone a happy name. And I rarely respond. I don't swoosh or swirl or swoon. As the camera clicked, I pretended (for a moment) that I was a girl who posed, pouted, and pirouetted. "Hello, Barbies!" Photographer Barbie smiled. "Hello, Barbie!" we answered, blowing kisses at her camera.

Finally...the dream was over.

We stepped out, onto the sidewalk and stared at each other.

What do we do now?

"Should we go to a bar?" Kendall suggested.

Now we're talking!

So...four former Barbies skipped happily up the sidewalk, stalwartly avoiding the pointed stares of the establishment's patrons and ordered alcohol. Raising our glasses for a toast, we celebrated our day, reveled in our companionable communion, and congratulated our non-conformity. We had busted out of the box.