Barbie Dream House And The Chocolate Room
The little girl I used to strip with in Winchester, Indiana, -- Debbie -- recently found me on Facebook. It was a glorious day! We fell out of touch nearly 35 years ago, but the memories are crisp, warm and happy. I LOVE when it's a mutual Facebook connection.
I forwarded Debbie the post I wrote about our stripping. [Read here.] Thankfully, she liked it.
Debbie was more than a childhood stripping friend... I loved playing with Debbie because she was smart, fun and imaginative. She also had the nicest mother who was permissive but not in a reckless way. As a single parent, Debbie's mother did a wonderful job providing structure, surrounding Debbie with love, encouraging her... and giving her the coolest room and stuff.
Debbie had a canopy bed in her girly-girl room and all the best girly toys. She received a Baby Alive doll one year for Christmas along with a pack of real disposable baby diapers. We fed and changed that doll again and again and again. I think we may have clogged her plumbing because we didn't always provide the doll with the recommended bottle of water between spoon feedings to wash out the red and green Cream of Wheat-like food. Debbie's mother gently warned us, always with a smile, "Girls, Baby Alive might not work properly... and she might start to smell... if you don't follow the directions." But she allowed us the choice to gorge Baby Alive. And gorge her, we did.
The item I coveted most of Debbie's was her Barbie Dream House. I think it was technically the Barbie Townhouse, but it was MY dream house. It had three stories, an elevator, and cool girly decor. If I could have twitched my nose like Samantha on Bewitched or blinked like Jeanie on I Dream of Jeanie and made myself Barbie size, I would have been prancing around that dream house in my tiny, tight, high-heel Barbie shoes, and my mini-skirt with figure flattering blouse, dusting furniture while sipping a cup of tea from a teeny-tiny cup and saucer. Trust me, I tried. I twitched and blinked so often as a kid, I'm sure I appeared to have a tick.
I would have twitched or blinked Debbie into the scene... as Skipper. Sorry, Debbie.
Today my dream house would look much different than the Liberace-style house I desired in the 70s. [Although a part of me still enjoys sequins, feathers and over the top opulence. Like a part of me would also like to live in Willy Wonka's factory, or the land of Oz. Fantasy.] I've learned that bigger isn't better. It's more to maintain.
I never had my own Barbie Dream House, but I'm thankful to Debbie for graciously sharing hers. I'm also thankful for Debbie's willingness and shared desire to explore our fantasies, stretch our imaginations and her mother's appropriate and loving support.
I was saddened to learn that Debbie's mother passed away in 1999. I
would have liked her to know that a day with her and Debbie, was like entering the Chocolate Room.