I was looking for some new Barbie thing for my nieces’ Christmas, and I actually got irritated on that aisle. What happened? Who changed? They had a Winnie the Pooh Barbie! Huh? That makes no sense. I left perturbed. There was too much manufactured estrogen in that display even for me.
And then on the way home — and I was alone in the car — a dump truck passed in front of me. I said outloud, “Wow — a blue dump truck!” And I studied its truck what-not.
What happened? Where did that girly girl go? Dad always said that having a daughter rounded him out, that he learned something shopping for fabrics at the sewing store. I now get it.