I had a nightmare last night that involved lots of angry doll faces and my own guilt about selling a vintage Barbie that's worth -- with all of her accoutrement -- around $1,000.
So I decided not to sell the Barbie.
I am now among a select group of people who knows what it means when the writing on Barbie's butt says TM instead of R or when her eyes are blue or her eyeshadow is brown or her hair is in a ponytail. It's not my proudest moment.
We've all had Barbies, right? Do you remember what happened to your Barbies? After mine were done humping Ken, I compulsively swung them around by their hair, gave them baths, put actual makeup on their faces, attached them to the back of the dog for a ride around the house. Barbie may have occasionally been found relaxing in the dewy morning grass, her hair tousled, one shoe missing, arms akimbo. Barbie may have occasionally learned how to fly. My sister may have occasionally defaced my Barbies as revenge for me pretending to have a second evil personality.
That Barbie in the picture? Is from 1960. She is the third edition of Barbie ever to be produced. She belonged to my mother-in-law. Who never removed the ponytail. Definitely never swung Barbie around by her hair. A cat has never gnawed on her fingers or toes.
I don't know if it's sentimental -- well it's definitely sentimental. I have a fascination with all things antique or vintage, all things historical, family trees ...
Anyway, I am not sure what I am going to do with her, I just know I can't let her go.