I was playing with a friend’s kid the other day. She’s awesome and smart and cute and funny, but she likes to play with Barbies. She’s like I was at her age, though; she likes to shave their heads and pull off their arms and leave them lying naked and mutilated all around the house, so that’s all right. She also likes to dress up Ken in Barbie’s clothes (which will only go on him if you leave them unbuttoned, if you’re curious), which is a refinement of the art that was lost on the pre-teen Little Blind Girl. I was impressed.
She also likes to use props meant for other games and appropriate them for Barbie. One of the props she reassigned this time around was a wheelchair; Barbie had gotten in a car accident driving her convertible after taking her “evening soothers” (don’t ask) and had to trade in four wheels for two and kick it in a wheelchair for a while. This was fine until she got to her Dream House…and the wheelchair wouldn’t go in the door.
That’s right: Barbie’s Dream House is not handicapped-accessible. The imperfectly abled may not pass the threshold of Barbie’s home. Gimps and cripples must sleep outside. I was appalled at this message of intolerance and indifference to suffering that surrounds our children, insidiously infiltrating their still-forming minds and imparting a lasting disregard for the rights of others. We must stand up against this atrocity! Well, not Barbie, because she’s now enfeebled, but the rest of us must stand up!
And then I remembered that, if Barbie were a real person, her height would be 7’2, her weight would be 101 pounds, her bust would be 39FF, and both her head and her waist would be 19″ around, and I was like, screw it. Barbie can gimp it on the streets. I’m done wheeling her bony butt around. How’s that for a life lesson?