Nostalgia’s got the best of me. (version two)

Went shopping today on my own accord (a big step for Brooke into becoming a cultured adult in society). As I walked down aisle after aisle to find this Christmas’s hottest toy, I couldn’t help but stumble upon the pinkest aisle in the store.

Growing up, Barbie was my girl. She was the preferred toy, and one of my greatest friends. She was everything I wanted to be. She married the hottest Ken ever, had just the right amount of kids, had the most perfect dream job and owned the pinkest house on the block —- hell, it even had an elevator in it!

Now, I am not going to go on a rampage and say that Barbie is unhealthy for girls’ self esteem, because honestly, Barbie didn’t make me feel like less a person. In fact, Barbie did the opposite. Barbie to me meant play time with my sister, and rapid, wild imagination time. Brie and I would spend hours setting up our Barbies’ houses, only to have to get ready for bed. Sometimes, we’d set up the houses, and not even have time to actually play in them. But to me, designing the house was three-quarters of the fun. 

It’s every girls dream to be married and live in her own house with decor that she created. Reminiscing, I am not sure as to whether the decorating my Barbie Dream House was a subconcious effort to achieve that dream, or it was just the 5 year old Brooke inside of me who wanted to play barbies with her sister.