“Wonderful! A retarded Barbie? I suppose that was made in honor of all you lifetime collectors.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say, Herb! It was a very kind thing for the Barbie folks to do. Now, truly everyone can find a place in Barbie world.”
“Really, Brenda? What about crazy 57-year-old overweight women who insist on living a fantasy life vicariously by collecting and hoarding stupid dolls? Where do those women fit in, Brenda?”
Brenda was taken aback for a moment, then regained her calm and said, “I’ll have you know, Herbert Weinstock, we Barbie enthusiasts are much more than collectors. We are the caretakers of the Barbie universe. That responsibility is a great and noble task. As you have so eloquently demonstrated by your juvenile comments, it can be a challenging duty, fraught with criticism and ridicule from those who are simply too ignorant to understand.”
“Ignorant? Ignorant? Look, Brenda. I’ve had it! I’m going to work, and when I get home, these dolls better be gone, or I’m going to pile them up in the backyard and burn them.”
Brenda screamed, “You… you wouldn’t! You couldn’t do something so horrible. You wouldn’t dare!”
“I most certainly would and most definitely will! Mark my words, Brenda!”
With that final declaration, Herbert left for the office, slamming the front door behind him. The impact caused several boxed Barbie toys to fall from their shelves. When one of the boxes fell, it revealed a small opening that had been cut into the wall and which was hidden by one of the boxes. Brenda reached into the void and retrieved a very special Barbie character. She had created it by modifying a damaged Ken doll she had picked up at a flea market. It was one Herbert had never seen.
