An Eviction Notice

Kids have such a short attention span. A few weeks ago, in the midst of a Barbie-love-a-thon in my house, I was persuaded to buy Shona a dollhouse. This wasn't just any house, it's a 4 1/2' tall, three story dream home for someone 11 1/2" high. The floors are reversible even. It took me two hours of sweat and cursing to assemble this beautiful structure and install it in the room. Sure, there isn't any practical way to get from the second floor to the third, but Ken and Barbie seem to be highly adaptable and fine with it. They have happily enjoyed their new digs without benefit of furniture, knowing it was on its way. They haven't even been nagging for a sportscar to tool around the bedroom floor in, such is the state of happiness in the new dream home. Until now.

I walked in to find the house stripped of all Barbie items, its floors gleaming, sad and empty. Had they failed to make rent? Was there a natural disaster that had prompted the doll family to pull up stakes and move on? I asked Shona why the dolls were gone and she informed me that she now wanted to use this gleaming home to showcase her new My Little Pony collection. She only has one pony that I am aware of, so of course I asked where she was going to get these ponies and she requested cleaning jobs around the house to earn the money for them. *sigh* The sad part of this is it took me over a week of searching on the internet to find furniture to fill this house for barbie and her friends. The furniture is still in transit and now these poor plastic people might never even get the chance to enjoy such amenities. It looks destined to become a very high end horse stable, the likes of which those My Little Ponies have never seen. It won't take long and I'm sure they'll be demanding horse trailers, pony brushes and special oat diets. As for Barbie, she's still smiling, but I can tell it's that fake, plastic factory made smile. Inside she's crying over her dream home, so cruelly ripped out from under her perfectly arched plastic feet. Such is the life in the toybox. One day you're in, the next day you're out.