How Barbie Became Bob

Remember having Barbie? I don’t. I never had a Barbie. I never had the large Barbie head that my little friends had. I had to go to their houses to put the blue eyeshadow on that rubberized face and plastic curlers in the blonde head’s hair. I didn’t have the Barbie Dreamhouse either, the one with the elevator and the sports car with Ken waiting out front. I had to go over to another little girl’s house to play with that one also.

But the truth is, I don’t remember asking for anything Barbie as a child. Or if I did, I’ve certainly blocked out the memory that my parents never got it for me. I was more into Big Wheels and roller skates and a bike when I finally learned to ride one at the age of ten.

My middle sister was different. I imagine she was into Barbie because she looked like one growing up, she was so pretty. Now with a daughter of her own, she has armed her three year old with a Barbie. They’re not all blonde anymore, and if your three year old gets any wits about her, she’ll know exactly what to do with her.

Introducing “How Barbie Became Bob.” We’ve all done it. (Cue “Psycho” music here)

  Barbie’s remnants in becoming Bob.

Barbie became Bob … in the basement … with the scissors …

Poor Barbie … all naked with little hair ...

Caught in the act.