A loooong while ago, the impressively-monikered Ms. Farklepants requested that I write about my favorite Christmas gift ever received. I didn't want to post anything until I had an actual photograph of the gift in question, and to make this happen I had to call my mom. ("Mom, can you scan a photo from the Christmas that I got the Barbie Townhouse?" "Um, sure. Is this for YOUR BLOG?" "Possibly.")
So here is, far and away, the most memorable Christmas gift I ever received: my Barbie Townhouse. (And, yes, that is the infamous Croptop Dickie sitting in front of my townhouse. Isn't he the cutest little Dickie you've ever seen? If my mom is reading this, she's nodding vigorously and silently mouthing, "Yes. Yes, he is.")
Here are the things I remember about my Barbie Townhouse:
It was thrillingly big. It was three, big stories high, PLUS you could pretend the rooftop was a patio where Barbie could sunbathe, entertain, and very nearly accidentally fall to her death before grabbing the edge at the last minute and calling bravely for help.
Barbie moved between the floors in a slim, mustard-yellow elevator with plastic scroll-work and a string pulley. Occasionally, Barbie would very nearly dramatically fall to her death in the yellow elevator just before something soft and cushion-y improbably found its way directly underneath. (Side note: I wanted badly to have my own home with an elevator or, at the very least, a dumbwaiter, due largely to my unrequited Harriet the Spy fantasies.)
I wish you could see this more clearly in the picture, but each wall was plastered with a photograph of a big, swankadelic, hideous 1970's interior. So, though the actual square footage of the townhouse was paltry, you could pretend that Barbie's pad went on for days, and, yes, there was a pool off the kitchen, a pool where Barbie would very nearly accidentally drown but be revived just in time by some tiny, plastic mouth-to-mouth.
The rooms each had a few pieces of matching, hard plastic furniture and their colors were as follows: REALLY YELLOW, REALLY BLUE, and REALLY PINK. Really. This furniture was rarely used because Barbie was often very nearly getting herself killed and thus too busy for just lounging around the townhouse. But I will say this: in Barbie's later years, that pink bed saw some action.
On this same Christmas morning, Dickie received a big, plastic firetruck, and we had some fun times rescuing Malibu Barbie from very nearly being burned alive in the third-story bedroom. This is when Dickie was still sweet and pliable and knew how to follow a script. Dickie would soon revolt. (If my mom is still reading this, she's shaking her head and silently mouthing, "No. He's a nice boy.")
Once I wade through the ocean of 572 pictures I took during Christmas '07, I'll be back with exciting tales of sexy gingerbread girls and snowmen and reindeer and Peeps. And I need to include some embarrassing pictures of Dickie because the little bastard spent an awful lot of time making fun of my blog. ("What are you doing? Blogging, perhaps? Are you blogging, blogger? Blog!")
I hope everyone had a big, warm, merry Christmas, wherein all their wildest, plastic elevator dreams came true.