Like lots of young girls in the 60s, I adored Barbie. Her hair, her eyelashes, her eyeliner, her clothes, her high-heeled bare feet. Her ridiculous body ( even at 7 I knew real women couldn't possibly have a shape like Barbie, unless you were Sophia Loren or Barbarella) but, boy did she look good in those schmancy clothes.
Then Barbie got a little sister, Skipper. Skipper was not a knock-out. She was cute, and friendly (I could tell by her non-mean-girl expression) but not a show-stopper. She was the girl next door.
No one was threatened by Skipper. She wore capris -- a lot -- and sneakers, her bare feet were flat, not molded to high heels. She was sporty. And definately not sexy.
A few years ago an aquaintance said to me, "You remind me of my Skipper doll I used to own."
Huh?
"Your nose and face, and bangs!"
But Skipper's...Skipper not Barbie.
Now, I'm no dummy, well, not this time. I laughed and thanked her, because she was complimenting me, no matter how I felt about it.
I saw this person again on Tuesday. I had just had my hair trimmed and she said, "We should call you Skipper." And then she told her 3 year old niece about Skipper and how I looked like her.
This time I loved it. This time, I really was no dummy. Because I am a 52 year old woman and have finally accepted the Skipper in me.
I've figured out that I like being Skipper. She's not high-maintenance, she loves to laugh, she loves going to sporting events, she likes animals and small children.
Besides, those high-heels really hurt my flat feet.
Anything you've accepted about yourself? Tell us. Please.
