When I was a little girl, I just couldn’t live without Barbie. She was the prettiest, most pristine doll I had ever received. She had perfectly trimmed, bleach blonde hair and her eyes were a twinkling shade of blue. Her skin was tan and virtually flawless. She was perfect.

While I had this doll, I used to pretend she was a fashion model, a pop-star living a secret live, and a wizard who had powers. And of course she had a doll house with three cars, a hot tub, and her own personal elevator. And on top of that, she had twelve dogs, a light-up fire place, and twenty seven brothers and sisters. You know, basic stuff.

She was my favorite toy because she was like, my best friend when I was four years old. Without her, I would have had no one to play with… Well, until my younger sister came along. All of my perfect Barbies soon had dirt smudges, stringy hair, and torn up limbs, and you could practically see how the fights begun. 🙂

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