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When I posted my question on Facebook regarding the best tool to amputate a Barbie ankle, I received a lot of helpful suggestions, ranging from toe nail clippers to bolt cutters.
Other friends, taking into consideration Barbie’s make-up, suggested more powerful tools, such as a Ratcheting PVC Pipe cutter or a 4-inch grinder with a cutting wheel.
(Clearly these people don’t know who they’re dealing with. Remember? I’m the one who had to ask my husband what a wrench looked like when assembling my unicycle.)
Only one friend asked me why I was going to amputate Barbie’s ankle, which in itself is curious.
Well, it all started with my exciting new used book, Regretsy, which highlights some of the most ridiculous items ever posted on Etsy.
Oh, how I love a good challenge. And, as my readers know, I have a talent for making ridiculous items.
Thank you.
To that end, I decided to make Barbie Foot Earrings.
I
dragged Kimmy with me to Walmart to help me find the perfect pair of
Barbie feet. After considerable deliberation, we selected Raquelle, the Barbie
with the fashionable fuchsia wedges.
On the way out of the store I handed Kimmy the receipt and she said, “Why do you need that?”
“In case I want to return it,” I said.
“Except she won’t have any feet,” Kimmy responded, always one step ahead of the rest of us.
“OOH!
OOH!” I said. “I’ll say I just bought this Barbie and never
noticed that her feet were missing until I got her home!"
Kimmy, of course, ignored me.
I set up the surgical suite on the kitchen table, stocked with a wide array of impressive tools.
“Don’t worry, Barbie,” I said, empathetically.
“This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”
Perhaps it’s a tribute to my culinary skills, that the bread knife was the most effective scalpel.
I realized that some of you may find me heartless. A Jeffrey Dahlmer of sorts. I get it. Cutting off Barbie’s foot to enhance my jewelry collection may seem a bit narcissistic.
But I am not entirely cold blooded. See? I treated Barbie’s wounds.
And I don’t know about you, but I think these Barbie Foot Earrings turned out AMAZING!
Another challenge met. And exceeded.
But I have one challenge remaining.
Off to Walmart.
I knew Kimmy wouldn’t let me down. After living on the other side of the world for almost a year, she came home with blog material galore!
Which, on the other hand, has left me with a very bad case of blog envy.
It’s one thing blogging about toilets in Thailand. But it’s another thing experiencing them first hand. Especially Thai Toilets on trains.
Damn her.
It’s really not fair. I would give anything to be able to walk down the aisle of that Thailand train, travelling from Bangkok to Surat Thani. My bladder full of Tai Tea.
I would open the door to the toilet and see 2 options: a squat pot and a regular toilet.
Despite the fact that my squatting skills are not completely honed, I would decide to take on the challenge of maintaining my balance as the train jolted from side to side. (That's how stupid adventuresome I am.)
I would pull down my unmentionables and assume my best plié. As the train rounded a curve, I would look down to ensure that I remained on target.
That’s when I would notice something moving briskly in the pot.
Since I would not have my reading glasses with me in the Thai Train Toilet, careful examination of the contents of said squat pot would be impossible.
Hence, I would take the conservative route and opt for the regular toilet, rather than risk exposing my netherlands to whatever the hell was swimming in the pot.
I would lift the toilet lid and notice a similar movement in that toilet. And I would come to the realization that Thai Train Toilets empty directly onto Thai Train Tracks.
I would try not to gag, all the while thinking what a great blog topic this could be.
Sadly, the Thai Train Toilet is just a fantasy for me. I did not get to experience the excitement of seeing railroad ties pass by, through the lens of a toilet bowl.
It’s just not fair. This could be the biggest case of blog envy ever.
You may think it could not get any better for Kimmy.
You’re wrong.
Her friends Luke and Neil slipped between cars on the Thai Train to smoke.
And got splashed.
How lucky can you get?
For years researchers around the globe have debated the issue of whether creative genius was genetic or nurtured.
That issue is no longer up for debate.
As evidenced by my brother Tom.
Now, Tom is remarkably similar to me: a creative genius.
He recently encountered a problem, and created a unique and novel solution to said problem.
A product amazing in its simplicity. Yet nobody before him had thought of it.
Not even me.
As background, Tom’s wife Maureen injured her lip. According to Tom, “I don't know if she banged her mouth on a beer can, or maybe got it caught in a car door. Maybe I made her laugh so hard that her lip broke open.” (Or not, Tom.)
OK, this is not Maureen, nor does it in any way, shape or form illustrate Maureen's lip injury.
But it is a lip injury.
Now as wonderful as Maureen is, the poor thing does not have Clyde genes. You cannot achieve creative genius by simply saying, “I do.” Still, Maureen tried desperately to find a creative way to fix her lip.
To no avail.
According to Tom, "She tried putting everything on it. She put butter, peanut butter, salt, canola oil, crazy glue, WD 40, bacon, gunpowder, and lip balm. She even tried a band-aid."
A band-aid on your lip? Come on, Maureen.
Tom added, “This gaping wound, about the size of an eyelash, became the focal point of her existence.”
Tom told me he had no choice but to invent something that would immobilize the damn thing till it got all healed up without her meddling.
He recalled the time he hurt his shoulder and the doctor put it in a sling, and the light bulb went off.
To that end, Tom invented the “LipSling”.
Goose bumps.
Note the instructions on his original sketch:
1. Insert the sling into one nose hole.
2. Pull it out the other nose hole.
3. Tie a knot and pull it in till the knot is in the middle of your inner nose.
4. Tuck your sore lip into the LipSling and leave it there till it heals.
At the risk of insulting the integrity of any of my readers who may be tempted to steal Tom's LipSling idea, note that he has protected it with the TM symbol.
With that said, he is looking for investors. For $100,000 you can get 5 percent of the net profits. You could be one of the first shareholders.
Back to the prevailing debate. Creative genius: genetic or nurtured?
I think my stinkin' case is closed.
"Mom, can I wax your lip?"
I heard 6 words come from Linda's mouth, but my brain refused to comprehend them. I looked at her dully.
"Can I wax your lip?" she repeated.
"NO!" I said firmly. "I don't need my lip waxed."
"Yes you do," she said and handed me a mirror. I looked. "I don't have hair on my lip," I said confidently.
She handed me my reading glasses. I looked.
I firmly believe that God makes our eyes go bad so we don't notice our flaws as we age. Reading glasses are for reading. Not for discovering that Kevin and I have similar lips.
I decided to consult with Dave, who also happens to be reliant on reading glasses.
"Linda wants to wax my lip," I told him. "Should I let her do it?"
"You have hair on your lip????" He seemed surprised. That made me feel better, since, clearly, he had never noticed my hairy lip.
"Yes," I said, humiliated.
But then he said, as if rubbing it in, "I don't have hair on MY lip."
Now, Dave has a full beard and mustache. You don't need reading glasses to see that he has hair on his lip.
"Yes you do!"
"No, I don't"
And we proceeded to debate the ridiculous issue until it became clear to me that he thought I had hair ON my lip (as opposed to above it).
I decided to let Linda get her wish. I know. Willingly allowing your daughter to inflict pain and suffering upon you in the name of beauty may not have been the best choice I've ever made.
But the before and after photos certainly are convincing.
Kimmy, of course, ignored me.
