My mother, aka Babs, called me this morning from Massachusetts while I was on the subway. While I usually abstain from talking on the phone in the subway, my mom never calls me in the morning so of course, being Irish, I thought someone was dead. I answered the phone with trepadition.
"Who died, Mom?"
"No, Liz! It's Barbie's 50th birthday! I should get out your box of Barbies from the attic!"
How can I NOT love my mother in all her delusional happiness and celebration for a plastic doll that gave me--and a few other millions of women--many body issues growing up?!?! I love my mom to death and she really is the person I love most in the world, since she carried me in her womb for 9 months and I was 8 lbs and change when I was born, so it couldn't been easy. Plus she tells me I'm her favorite child all the time. But it is a great irony that as we celebrate 50 years of a plastic babe looking hot and wearing the latest fashions and being so goddamn skinny, I sit down to write my blog about free food.
Barbie, be damned! I'll never have your perky big breasts or your perky lil bottom or your hot boyfriend Ken. Nope, I've got my small chest and my junk in my station wagon trunk and no boyfriend, just a DVR which keeps me great company!
Barbie, I bet in your 50 years you never got to enjoy the leftover spoils from a corporate meeting! I did, and today as a result I ate a bunch of free olives, cheese and crackers, and a chocolate covered pretzel.
Jealous?
Why don't you get Skipper to fight me? I'll be waiting.
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