It is a temperate Tuesday morning; I am hurrying to a meeting downtown. It’s been a busy time, what with moving house and preparing for a long work road trip. I am in results-mode–I absolutely need to get a million things done in the next few days. You know how it is. It’s a ten-minute walk; of course, I have scheduled fifteen.
‘Hey, dog lady.’
Oh no. This I do not need right now. I push on.
‘Hey, hold up. I am not feeling too good.’
I stop, and look up to the right. Nothing. Thank god. I keep moving.
‘No no, on the deck. Just come here.’
Against all better judgement, I go. Surely it is not what I think.
It is. ‘Barbee, for god’s sake.’
‘You are always a bit too quick to assess.’
‘Well, I’m just saying.’ I shift to the other foot. It is awkward not having my very cute dog to run interference. ‘Again, this doesn’t look good. You are in the same clothes you were in on Saturday morning, and you are lying on top of a girl in an embroidered top.’
There’s a bit of a silence. I am already four minutes into back-up time. ‘I have to go. I have a meeting.’
There is a hoot of laughter. I’m immediately offended. These meetings are important–they are my professional life.
‘You actually know this woman?’ A piping voice, clear and young. And biting.
‘Yes, I asked her for assistance the other day. She wasn’t a lot of help.’
Two skanky-looking Barbies on a deck in clothes that have certainly been fresher, dissing me? I think not.
‘And who might you be, girlfriend? I have to say, you are not looking much better than Barbee.’
‘Well, at least I wouldn’t wear sandals to a meeting. I’m her younger sister Skipper.’
‘Skipper? Not Skypper?’
‘I am pretty clear on who I am, other than pre-teen angst–but no acne thank god. Barbee is the oldest, so she has more identity issues’
There is no comeback to this. Not in three minutes, anyway. She is one smart-alecky doll, especially given her current posture. I’m annoyed with her comment on my footwear–these sandals were not cheap, and it’s warm out. Plus I don’t really want to be seen talking to dolls downtown.
‘You know, I really have to go….’ I stop suddenly. Oh my god. I aim my very best stink eye at Barbee. ‘You have two feet.’
‘Well, yah. Of course.’ Blank stare. Those Barbies are one-up on us there. They rule the blank stare.
‘No, you told me you were Mission Accomplished Barbie.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, you did.’
‘Oh, I guess not. You asked me if I was and I said “What do you think?” Seriously, read your own blog.’
‘Jesus. You know that I blog?’
‘Well, I know you’re trying to blog.’
Loud snort from Skipper. This is quite enough; I am already one minute behind schedule. Unheard of. I snap.
‘What the fuck even happened here? The last time I saw you, Barbee, was on Saturday morning, and you were lying one-legged on the sidewalk.’
Barbee takes a breath. ‘So, yah, that’s right. Finally on Monday I convince someone to take me up to the deck, which you, by the way, were not kind enough to do.’ I am pretty ashamed at this, to be sure. Especially now that young Skipper is involved. Jeez, and I volunteer for United Way.
‘My leg was just bent backwards. It happens when you don’t have nerve-endings. All good.”
‘How did you get up here?’
‘There was an angry young woman–maybe she was sad?–who stalked by here. She looked like her mom was sick or maybe that she missed her period.’
Oh yah, I think. I saw her too.
‘Okay, well. How did your little sister get here?’
There is a silence. Pretty long. I am five minutes behind schedule; this is very bad, because I will have to move fast and that makes me sweat beneath my foundation, which causes T-zone shine. Terrible.
‘So this angry young woman drops me at the door, tells me she hopes my life works out, and kicks the shit out of the door.’
I have a look at the door. Fresh chipboard nailed to the lower part of the door. Not quite aligned, either. Tsk.
‘Okay,’ I offer.
‘So, things did not go well. Ken came screaming out about the door. He stepped on me! But of course I said I was sorry, and that I’d be better, and could he please bring me in.’
Holy. This is incredible. ‘Okay, and then?’
‘So of course he’s such an asshole–jeez I hate this guy–and he’s like “Here is your sister.” And he tosses out Skipper. We managed to edge together to stay warm.’
‘But I do have my nice embroidered top on!’ Skipper pipes up. If it is possible for a small Barbie to preen, she does. It’s like her armour.
Wow this girl is–what, twelve, thirteen? What brought her to this life? I’m at a loss. I sure don’t like this Ken, though.
‘Okay, listen, I have to go. I really wish you guys well.’
Four fish eyes, staring at me. Hooks. This is like a Margaret Atwood poem.
‘I have to go. I have a meeting.’ My expensive sandals slap when I hit the sidewalk. One drags a bit and catches, loudly. I hear a snigger from the deck.
Karrie Evans
Barbee and Skipper have seen some action.
They have, but I am hoping for the best. Thank you so much for reading, Karrie!