“You have those career Barbies, right?”
The mousy employee nodded, staring up at Tiffany like the goddess Athena was visiting him.
“What about Bartender Barbie?”
His face scrambled, a mess of a twisted mouth and furrowed eyebrows.
“Bartending? That’s hardly a career.”
“I know, right?”
Finally, someone who agreed with her.
Since she was there she looked around, pressing the bellies of tickling Elmos and spinning a toy that obnoxiously yelled farm animal sounds (a cow goes mooooooo!) and before leaving the mall, she stopped by the display again. They were all of the same model, the same doll at every turn, all legs and boobs and wide eyes and soft, perfect hair and Tiffany wished she could dump her coffee over the glossy, pink boxes.
She gave the one closest to her a nasty glare and the doll, naturally, kept her plastic smile and rosy cheeks.
“Stupid Barbie,” Tiffany said to it and walked out, trying to forget about the stupid Barbie and its stupid smile.