When I was young, my sister and I had a ridiculous amount of toys. More so than my own child does now. Maybe it was because there were two of us, or maybe because we have so many relatives, but either way, we had a TON of toys.
Our largest collection was, of course, Barbie dolls. My sister and I had a lot of them.
I would like to think this is what our collection looked like.
But I know it was closer to this, complete with ratty haired dolls missing all of their clothes.
We made a lot of our own Barbie clothes. You would think I would be a master seamstress, but no. Oh sure, I can sew a ragged line across a hole in the armpit of my own shirt, but beyond that, I am useless. [And too cheap to buy a sewing machine. You see my problem, here.]
We also treated our Barbies poorly. We often popped there heads off by accident, and then would shove them back on resulting in a freakish fat-headed Barbie with distorted features.
We also cut their hair off. And when we did not like the hair cut we gave our dolls, we would cut some more.
Eventually they looked like this. Little did we know, you can replace their hair with a little hard work.
Instead, we would attempt to replace their heads with others by heartlessly ripping their heads off and shoving a new one back on resulting in that smashed look I mentioned earlier. Even if we had re-rooted their, I am confident in saying they would have had glorious new hair, but still have had smashed faces.
We also did not own our own Barbie doll house. My sister and I spent many hours constructing our Barbie “houses” with old textbooks that we for some reason owned. I do not have a clue why we had so many old text books now that I think back on it because neither of our parents went to college or were school teachers. So we had rugged outlines of rooms out of books, that we propped open and stood up, on the floor of our room, and we had the bare minimum Barbie furniture, like maybe a bed and a closet, and I distinctly remember a bathtub/shower thing. [I remember because I once melted crayons on the lightbulb in my lamp and when I couldn’t get the crayons off of the bulb, I put Windex in the tub part and tried to clean the bulb off. This resulted in shooting sparks and my lamp going up in flames. We were
poorly behaved little snots overly-curious children, at times. I would like to think the lightbulb is the original Crayola Crayon Melter.]
There’s no image for my lamp starting on fire. That would be evidence, sillies!
Obviously, I did not learn to NOT play with fire until much later in life.