Pretty in Pink

Editor's Note: Not a children's story. 
 

                The setting is Plastic Ville, California. Plastic Ville is a tiny, sleepy town full of tiny, sleepy people with plastic skin and joints that only move forty-five degrees in either direction. But they are a happy race of people. There is no need for moveable joints in Plastic Ville. These people know nothing in life other than their perfectly manicured paper lawns, perfectly buffed plastic cars and perfectly matching family sets, sold separately, of course.

                At least this is how Plastic Ville looks to an outsider. Their painted smiles fool us into thinking that there is nothing more to worry about in life than when the next model of house boat will be released. But for those of us who have been there, for those of us who know, well, it’s completely different. Allow me to tell you…

                The first person that you need to know, if you’re going to understand anything about Plastic Ville and the people who live there, is Barbie. You might think you know Barbie, but trust me, you know nothing. We’ll start in the summer of 1988, shortly after the beginning of summer break.

                It’s the summer before senior year and things are looking brighter than ever for Barbie. With her superior make, allowing for fuller hip rotation, Barbie’s high kicks land her the role of captain on Plastic High’s cheer squad, meaning she has a built in set of the prettiest, trendiest, most flexible friends any girl in Plastic Ville could ask for! But don’t think that stops Barbie from making friends outside the squad. No, Barbie is pretty and likeable, so she makes friends wherever she goes. That’s why, at the beginning of summer, 1988, she is throwing a huge pool party. It’s at this pool party that our blonde, vacant-eyed heroine meets Ken, the love of her life. She knows that he is the love of her life because he is perfect and plastic and never stops smiling. Through the summer they spend a lot of time together and pretty soon everyone in Plastic Ville knows that they are going to spend the rest of their lives together.

                Everyone except Theresa. You don’t know who that is? Doesn’t anyone remember Barbie’s brunette friend? Well, if you’ve forgotten about her, you’re not the first one. Resa was Barbie’s first real friend, before Barbie became popular and pretty, back when everyone was just a little kid at Plastic Elementary. Now, in high school, Barbie’s grown into her looks: she has the perfect body, perfect smile, violet eyes, platinum hair with a perfect perm (remember, this is the eighties) and the charisma that could charm the slobbering, rabies-filled muzzle off a bloodthirsty hellhound. Barbie’s parents are also rich, which helps a great deal. Resa, on the other hand, has brown hair that is curly underneath and straight on top, giving her head roughly the shape of a yield sign. Her eyes are brown, not impossibly purple like her friend’s; she wears overalls, has braces and is basically as blind as a bat, so cue the glasses. But Barbie loves her, or rather Resa worships Barbie and Barbie loves anyone who loves her.

                Now, why is it that Theresa didn’t think that Barbie and Ken would be together forever? Jealousy, of course. Before you get upset, please understand that there is no love triangle here. Not only does Resa not stand a shadow of a chance with Ken, but Ken doesn’t even love Barbie, so  rather than a love triangle, it's really just Barbie’s affection for Ken being deflected by his inability to love her back and Resa’s affection for Ken being deflected by her affection for Barbie and by her own crippling timidity. 

                Barbie is not blissfully unaware of her boyfriend’s lack of reciprocation; she merely decides not to let it ruin her senior year. Besides, he’s still a wonderful companion! They like all of the same things and no one gives a better opinion when shopping. What more could a girl want than a boyfriend who will not only go to the mall with her but happily stay there long after she’s ready to go home?

                As for Ken, poor misguided Ken… Well, he is trying. Things are going well for Plastic High’s class of ’89. Resa is doing the majority of Barbie’s homework, helping Barbie maintain a 3.0 average (Barbie never was the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree) and everyone is getting ready for Homecoming. As cheer captain, the pressure’s on for Barbie to win that crown, which means the pressure’s on for Ken to win that crown, too, although typically speaking the captain of the football team usually wins.

                Did I fail to mention that? Ken isn’t the captain of the football team, or the captain of the baseball team, or basketball or soccer. Rather, he’s captain of the swim team and president of the Art Club. But he’s dating Barbie, so nobody really asks any questions. Knowing that he needs to win this to salvage his relationship, he does all the right things. Ken goes out and buys Barbie a beautiful gown (pink, of course) and a matching bow tie for himself. There is a simply to die for baby blue tux in the window, but Ken opts for the subtler look just to be on the safe side. At the dance, with Barbie looking gorgeous in layers of tulle and satin, Resa looking like a slightly squashed blue cupcake that got in a fight with a hair dryer and Ken looking like his usual charming self, the announcement is made: Barbie is the Queen, by unanimous vote, and Ken is the King. The celebration begins.

                Two weeks later, Barbie has something to say.

                “Ken, we’re expecting.”

                Yes, it’s true. After the homecoming dance, drunk on victory and jello shots, Barbie and Ken had signed a contract requesting that they be sent a baby. Did they mean to? Of course not! But in the heat of the moment, even plastic people make mistakes.

                Barbie received the notice in the mail this morning: there will be a beautiful, blue eyed, blond haired little girl arriving within two weeks. She is mortified. Imagine having to walk around with this secret for two weeks! And when the baby comes? People will notice; people will stare. Barbie begins to realize that her perfect, plastic life is about to become imperfect. She turns to her boyfriend, the only perfect thing left in her world, hoping that he will know what to do or at least what to say. But Ken says nothing; he just looks at her in disbelief. And this is when Barbie goes off the deep end.

                Fast forward two weeks. Barbie’s life is not over. In fact, it looks like pretty much the same, perfect life it has always been, except for a few details. She and Ken are no longer a couple, although they keep up the charade for image. Her parents agreed to raise the baby since Barbie is an only child and they are both retired. Surprise, everyone! Kelly isn’t Barbie’s sister after all. What? Don’t tell me you weren’t ever the tiniest bit suspicious that Barbie had a sister so much younger than her.

                So Barbie makes it through her last year of high school, although she is sadder and more disillusioned with life. What about Resa? Well, she finally stops wearing overalls, at least to school, but she still spent Valentine’s Day alone, studying for Barbie’s science test, as she is now doing all of her friend’s homework while Barbie goes to parties with the boys from University of California, Plastic Ville, trying to fill her empty soul and soothe her fragile ego.  As for Ken, he settles into a comfortable role at Barbie’s side, watching her float through her last year of high school and wondering why he can’t seem to love this beautiful girl.

                You see, things really aren’t perfect in Plastic Ville, and this is only scratching the surface. There’s so much more to Barbie and her companions, as well as all the other inhabitants of this tiny town. If you ever care to visit Plastic Ville again, I could tell you how it is that Barbie’s had so many careers or perhaps why not everything is squeaky clean in the rubbery lives of Polly Pocket and her gang. Once you know the secrets, you understand that Plastic Ville people are just like us, except tinier, made of plastic, and sold, starting between $8-10, at local toy stores.

Redvines: Short List of Ingredients, Long List of Memories

So there's this little thing called candy. And I don't care if you eat it all of the time or some of the time, you know it's good. If you say that you eat it none of the time, you're lying and you know it. We all have our favorite types of candy. Some like Sour Patch Kids, some like Swedish Fish (for inexplicable reasons, they say that they are the same as Sour Patch Kids but they are, in fact, 1000% more disgusting), some like M&Ms, some like Skittles. Whatever your brand of candy, that's cool. Having a sweet tooth isn't a bad thing and sometimes it's just nice to munch on something while watching a movie or playing a board game.

Now, if you've ever eaten candy (which we've already established that you have) chances are you've heard of Twizzlers. Just in case you haven't, let me clear it up for you: Twizzlers are fake licorice treats made out of stringy red plastic, and that's about exactly what they taste like, too. Mmmm, sounds delicious, right? Of course not. Yet people buy them and ingest them. Whatever.

Infinitely more delicious are Redvines, and yet a disproportionately small number of people actually are aware of this candy's existence. Allow me to enlighten you: Redvines have been around before Twizzlers, making Redvines the original and Twizzlers the sad, flavorless copy. They have a texture that is actually like that of licorice rather than an old rubber boot and they taste like Heaven on freaking Earth.

"No, no." some of you are saying. "That's not what Redvines taste like at all! You're spreading lies, Redvines are-". I cut you off there (chloroform, useful stuff...) because I do not care if you agree with me or not. In all honesty, we could quibble about which is the better candy for years and never come to an accurate conclusion because it is all a matter of opinion. If it were a matter of taste, neither would win, because they are actually both terrible, artificially flavored sticks of sugar and gluten. Sorry, it had to be said.

"But wait, now you're contradicting yourself! You just said that Redvines tasted like Heaven on Earth. Why don't you-". Seriously, I have a limitless supply of chloroform, stop interrupting.

Redvines taste like Heaven on Earth because that's how I want them to taste. Don't you see? Redvines aren't about the taste. They stopped being about the taste when I turned seven or eight and learned to distinguish between actual flavor and just super sweet. It isn't about eating corn syrup and wheat flour and Artificial Flavor and Red 40. If it were about that, I would find something better to do, like inject pure fructose into my veins.

No, eating Redvines is about eating something that I have shared with every person I have ever cared about. And if you're feeling sad because I haven't eaten a Redvine with you, I'm sorry, it was probably due to lack of funds rather than lack of love.

Remember the Pensive from  Harry Potter? And the memories were like silver liquid that they would pour into the rune inscribed stone basin and then they would be able to watch the memories as if they were actually there? Redvines are like that except that you can eat them.

Eating a Redvine I remember the time that my dad and stepmom made mixed drinks in these red striped martini glasses and drank them through redvine "straws" and we were all laughing because they looked ridiculous and they had to keep changing out their straws. I remember the many, many times that my grandma and my sister and I would buy a huge barrel of 100 Redvines and stay up late watching as many inappropriate movies as we could find on TV, or playing board games and laughing until we cried because we were all sleep deprived and slap happy. I remember sitting with my Daddy in the hospital watching Iron Man 2 and then Thor and sharing Redvines with him while complaining about the hospital alarms going on. There might have been a fire, we didn't care. We were eating Redvines. I remember watching the faces of my friends as they tried a Redvine for the first time. Some were surprised, some were appalled, some tried to eat all of them.

So whatever you candy preference, I'm sure there's one candy that brings back memories of childhood or high school or college or all three. Or, if you're like me, most candies bring back memories, but that's just because my memories attach easily to objects and smells and people.

Wish List

Dear Santa,
I usually don't write a wish list, because I have everything that I need. But this year I figured, what the heck. I've been through quite a lot this year, so I suppose that makes me eligible for the "Nice List". I'm going to try to keep my list concise, mostly because I hate asking for a lot of stuff. It feels greedy and selfish. Also, the thing I really want, well Santa, you can't give that to me. I know you probably would if you could, since gift giving and wish fulfillment is sort of your forte, but know that I understand and I'm not angry with you, because you're still pretty great.

Furthermore, you might be wondering, Santa, why I am sending in my list so early. Well, Thanksgiving is over, which means it's officially Christmas Season. I thought that if my letter came in before most of the other boys' and girls' letters, that you would have time to puzzle out my bizarre requests.

With that being said, here is my wish list:

1) I'd like to stop being angry. I know you can't actually give me that, since it's more of a personal life change, but if you could send maybe a stress ball as a stocking stuffer, I'd appreciate it.
2) My mom put all of my boots, scarves and hats in storage. I'm hoping she'll retrieve them for me, but on the off chance that she doesn't, I could really, REALLY use some boots, hats and scarves. Ideally, I'd like all of my old ones back, since they are adorable and I was so looking forward to wearing them.
3) A mirror that doesn't tell me the wrong things. That's my way of saying that I want to look in the mirror and like the reflection every day. Again, it's more of a personal thing, but if you have a magic mirror of sorts, that might work as a training wheel kind of deal.
4) Two nice, preferably leather bound journals, although just regular bound will work, too, as long as there are a lot of pages. Check with my mom on this one, though, because she might already have it covered.
5) Lime and black pepper perfume. There's a website that has a couple of options, the lady's located out of Berkley, California. It's not too expensive, and I was thinking of buying some samples as soon as my new debit card comes in the mail. I'll let you know if the samples are any good or if this is a total bust.
6) And most of all, I want to understand how I feel, why I feel and where to go from there.

I know it's not a perfect list, mostly it just looks like I need a self-help book or two, but I figured I'd let you know that I'm still here and that I still think about you. I'm not expecting a large pile of improbable gifts under the tree this year, so don't worry too much about me, although if you can't find a magic mirror, I would at least like the journals. Oh, and a special ornament for the tree, maybe in the shape of a bicycle.

All my love,
Meghan (Making Christmas shopping difficult since 1994)

Editor's Note: My scarves, boots and hats were not in storage, like I said. They were in the same box with all of my sweaters and winter clothes. I do still require a pair of black boots, however.