from the past

It's her, my oldest friend besides my sister.   We text often, anything happens--anything funny, anything weird, anything on our minds.

Well, this text came a few weeks ago.  Barbel is my old barbie doll from when we were kids.
 

Oh, the light bulb mishap, of course. The shade had come off the lamp and somehow the hot lightbulb bumped Barbel on the back of the head and melted her hair.  Then while we were looking at her head going, "Oh no! Oh, dear!" the lamp was against the padded plastic headboard of my bed and melted a hole in that.  Yeah, we were quite the squirrels, honestly. 

So there's that--friends for fifty-five years now, maid of honor in each other's weddings, our babies slapping each other in the basement over a Little Tykes car, all the years that have flowed by one after another, and so glad for another person on earth who remembers our barbies.  

She had an old-timey Ken (not the suave Malibu Ken that came later) but one with a crew cut and serious face, and his arms constantly fell off, and she reminded me how we'd dress him and then shove his arms up the sleeves to keep him going.   Yes, indeed.  

She and Pam and I also used to gather up all the bath products and lotions and sprays and make up and anything we could find, put it in a suitcase, and play Avon Lady, "Ding dong! Avon Lady!"

(We didn't have Internet.)

I love you. 

Thanks for being mine,  Val