On December, I went to a plastic perfect wedding. Remember the brunette Barbie doll little sweet girls used to play with? Well, I went to her wedding. She looked perfect. Her strapless wedding dress was a size zero, her hair didn’t move, everything was stiff; even the flowers. They might as well be, otherwise real flowers would wither and Barbie wouldn’t have it. Barbie has to have her wedding be flawless. The waltz was a wee bit tricky since Barbie and Ken are made of plastic and even if they tried, they aren’t flexible enough for the dance to look natural. It was actually endearing to see how Barbies never grow up. They look plastic and perfect; anything but real. I wonder what would happen to a Barbie if it aged? I cannot seem to picture a Barbie with a wrinkle or a problem; a real one at least.
And so Barbie and Ken had their plastic perfect wedding. I had fun because it wasn’t my own. It was just interesting to attend Barbie’s wedding. And it reminded me why I didn’t like barbies in the first place. Funny how when you grow up, everyone tries to brainwash you into wanting to be a Barbie doll. Then you have to discover on your own how a Barbie’s life doesn’t exist because it isn’t real. Only very few get to crawl back into the vivid real world. It’s harder in some way but worth it. What’s the point in living a lie? And once you wake up and see what is real, you can never go back to plastic. Real flowers and plastic ones have nothing in common. The scent, the touch, the loveliness. I want my wedding to be a different story than Barbie’s.
Because nothing in the world is better than real; nothing.