Playing With Fire

 And then one day, I turned six.  Still sorely lacking in creativity, might I add.  It was my dream at that time to be a firefighter or a garbage collector when I grew up.  I’m not sure my dream had much more thought put into it than wanting a job where I could ride in a big truck.  Fire engine.  Garbage truck.  It didn’t really matter, as long as it was big and a truck.  So, when my mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday cake that year, I let her know that I was debating between a  fire engine and a garbage truck.  I was the only one debating this question. A fire engine it was.  In retrospect, I’m kind of surprised my parents went along with the fire engine cake and didn’t force me to have a ballerina cake, a princess cake or just a plain old cake, not trying to be anything but a circle or a rectangle.

However, my birthday presents were a different story.  I think most of them were an attempt on my parents’ part to ‘convert’ me into, you know, a real girl.  Hence, ‘Malibu Barbie’ and ‘Bizzie Lizzie’ contaminated my birthday stash that year.  You heard me – ‘Bizzie Lizzie’.  Battery-operated ‘Bizzie’ wasn’t just any doll.  No, she came equipped with her very own iron, duster and other household appliances so she could do what she loved best – household chores. What a fun doll.  Did the makers of this winner expect little girls around the world to shout out ‘Look mom, look how fun it is to clean!’? Not only did I have zero interest in her, she actually kind of scared me.  She was immense (I think she was about the size of a four year-old child) and she always struck me as a bit evil.  But now I wish I had kept her so she could clean my apartment. I’m not sure whatever became of ‘Malibu Barbie’.  I don’t think she even made it out of the box she came in, let alone to Malibu.