Our naughty elf-on-a-shelf hit the road the day after Christmas, leaving a note and some chocolates for the kids.  (More on Fabio’s antics HERE) Barbie didn’t get so much as a Dear Jane letter, but I don’t think she’s particularly bothered.  Fabio was just a booty call to her, and now that he’s rode off into the sunset, she’s itching for some action. 

Barbie joined our family last year, after a birthday shopping trip to Toys R Us.  6yo son had been invited to a classmate’s birthday party.  A girl classmate.  We were looking in the Barbie aisle for a suitable gift, and there she was.  Saucy and pouty with light brown hair instead of the trademark blond.  Now, I’m not usually attracted to women, but I had to bring her home.  Memories of all the childhood fun I had playing with Barbie and her accessories flooded me, and filled me with longing.  I have 3 sons, there will be no Barbie in my future unless I do the Crazy Middle-aged Lady thing and buy her for myself.

Once home, Barbie was the same anatomical anomaly as I remembered.  Legs disproportionately long, joints stiff and immovable, a Brazilian wax job more thorough than a porn star’s.  I dressed her in a smart little sundress and stood her on the dining room table beside the fruit bowl.

“What is that thing doing in the house?