I discovered last week that a trade-sized anthology such as, oh, a Brava anthology is just the right size to mimic one of those paperback-sized Bibles. So now I’m taking a Brava anthology to church with me every Sunday, looking very studious when I open it on my lap during the sermon. Is there a special level of hell for people who read sexy books during church?
Okay, I promised I’d talk about Barbies and I will! Yesterday, my daughter implored me to come upstairs and play Barbies with her in her room. She has no “girl” friends in the neighborhood since she had that big fight with Savannah and told her she was NOT GOING TO BE HER FRIEND ANYMORE. So I go up to her room. She has all the Barbies set up and she’s telling me their names. They are all named after characters in The Nanny because that is her show du jour. Then she says–play! I say, but I don’t know how to play. I’m not 9, you know! She says, but you had Barbies when you were little. I say, but that was a long time ago, babe, plus MY PARENTS WERE MEAN AND I ONLY HAD ONE BARBIE, NOT FIFTY LIKE YOU. (And she only has two Kens. Man, those are some dang lucky Kens, living in the Dreamhouse with fifty Barbies…..) But she insisted, so I played. First, I sent the mom and dad Barbie off on a date, leaving the other Barbies home with the babysitter. Then babysitter Barbie called her boyfriend. Next thing you know things were were turning way too Brava in the Dreamhouse. This is what happens when a romance writer tries to play Barbie. I said I had better go and she was crying, BUT I LOVE HOW YOU PLAY, MOMMY.
I told her okay, tomorrow, but next time Barbie is going to church. Without a Brava anthology! I hope she doesn’t flash the preacher or put bourbon in the communion cups or something.