Want 2 Be Barbie

I want a new van, because the latch on my sliding door on mine is broken, and I have to manually pull it down to shut the door. I am going to chip a nail doing that one day, and then I will wither you all with my hot stare of death. I want it to be red like that one. I want dual sliding doors, so I can reach all those carseats. And I want the radio to work, too, this time. No, scratch that. I want a cd player and MP3 jack, so I can turn it up really loud and make the kids suffer through WHAM! and Air Supply, just like they make me suffer through their bickering now. Sweet revenge indeed: a new red ride and surround sound.

When I was a little girl, I had a butt load of Barbie dolls. I kept them and all their clothes in a five gallon pickle bucket, and I amused myself for hours, helping that little plastic doll live a perfect life. I wanted to be Barbie back then because she had that handsome husband, and those cute little itty bitty molded hair babies. Today, I still want to be Barbie, but my reasoning has changed. Today, I’m 40-something, with a handsome husband and a passel of real-haired kids, and I still want to be Barbie because that bitch has everything.