This weekend I went home for one of my younger brother’s birthday party. He is turning 13 and officially taller than me. If you don’t know me well, let me fill you in on a few details. I live in a big family - 1 of 7 kids - with a wide variety of ages. We are all fully related with mutual love for the Chicago Cubs and all things awesome. Anyway, when I pulled up into the driveway, I noticed all the lights were out. It was a little odd, since it was 7:30 PM but I went along with it. As I entered the house, I over heard that it was story time. Which basically meant that the older siblings told the younger ones about all the mistakes we made growing up, and it’s scary to admit how much fire was involved. When it became my turn to tell a story of course I told the one about crayons (see post “Crayola vs Roseart”), but I also decided to tell the tragic story of Barbie.
As a kid I loved playing barbies but what I loved more was convincing my younger brother - who now is a brally west point cadet - to play barbies. We had some demented plot lines to the game but my favorite was hairstyles. Like every other girl in the 90s, we decided to add tips and highlights to barbies hair with purple crayola markers. Barbie came out punk chic. Anyway, one day we took scissors to add to the quality of hair. And one barbie... we had no choice... we had to do it. Guys, we cut off all her hair. It wasn’t our fault because barbie had cancer and was going through kemo. I said the plot lines were demented. Anyways that’s not the worst part. I have to let you all know that barbie didn’t make it. When my mom found out, she THREW HER IN THE TRASH! And ever since then, I knew the only way to release this pain and anger was to write and perform.
Life is simple, pretend is complex. -cynical sugar