I'm A Barbie Girl

It’s not the long, tanned, bendable legs she hates. It’s not the thin stomach they lead to, nor the pert, unreal breasts that jut out a bit higher. It’s not the slender arms that lift away from her torso and turn in three hundred sixty degrees. What she hates are two things on Barbie’s infuriatingly perfect head, her hair and her eyes.

Barbie’s long hair is flaxen blonde and pin straight. Her own is dark and curly and barely reaches her shoulders. Barbie’s eyes are bright blue with tiny white sparkles flecked throughout. Hers are brown and don’t sparkle. She wanted so badly to be Barbie, who looks like the pretty girls at school. Everyone wants to be blonde, everyone thinks that blondes are the most beautiful women ever and that they look like angels or supermodels.

It’s too much to handle, and she takes Barbie in her hands. Her fingers circle her arms and chest and the tips of her thumbs rest under the softer plastic of her chin. She squeezes and presses upward, harder and harder as Barbie’s head tips back and she gets angrier and angrier, clenching her teeth until finally-

POP.

-her dark, curly-haired head detaches from her neck and rolls down her back. Her brown eyes remain open but glazed, so she doesn’t see perfect Barbie fall from her hands, completely invincible.