Well, more of a pervert. A worse pervert. Not just a homosexual, but a naked-doll voyeur too. In my defense, I needed to keep the blinds open. I had only used my Canon camera a total of six times, but I still knew that I had to have decent lighting to take good photos. The last photos I had taken of the dolls looked like a hostage situationβdark lighting, a shaky iPhone, and someone off-camera telling them to stick to the script.
I needed natural lighting. I needed a white backdrop rigged over two chairs. I needed it to pop. My girlfriend watched from the couch with concern growing in her eyes. I propped the naked vintage Barbie up against my makeshift background, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She looked a little too comfortable naked. She looked ready to pose. Back, front, all of it. My girlfriend sniffed. Glass jars, ragged stuffed animals, and stray cats all existed to be polished, adopted, named and afforded a place in the family.
There was a serial number stamped on it that was probably important. I know way too much about Barbies now. I had to research them, to figure out which Barbies I was selling. Barbie has a best friend; did you know? Her name is Midge. Which is odd, considering that she and Barbie share a bodyβthe exact same impossible measurements and D-cups, all so they can use the same toys and accessories.
Barbies creators must have reasoned that Barbie needed a practical best friend, so Midge sprung forth, with her freckles, fuller face, and more practical clothing line. Even her name suggested a goody-two-shoes vibe, the sort of friend who would catch you drinking under the bleachers and tell on you, for-your-own-good, of course.
How lazy, I thought, for the company to make them share a body mold. How unglamorous, to be the dowdy copy of your best friend, Barbie. Did Midge resent Barbie, with her perfect high heels and studly boyfriend? Or did Midge and Barbie ever cut loose, get a little too drunk on college hooch? A homecoming, a familiarity, a new world well-known?
