Like many young girls of my generation, I grew up playing with a Barbie Doll. For hours a day, I would engage in imaginative play with my beloved doll.
However, having been accused by my parents as having an “overly active imagination,” this did not fare well for my Barbie. She often ended up in dire straits, and most frequently pregnant. I would take the red rubber ball from playing “jacks” and rubber-band it around her waist. She would then run around saying “Oh no! What shall I do?” Ken never seemed to play into this dilemma.
Poor girl never had any shoes either. Yup, MY Barbie was barefoot and pregnant.
I just loved chewing on her little plastic shoes. While my Barbie was running around “in a family way,” I was busy chewing on all of her shoes until they became a mangled mess.
There was something in the texture of those plastic shoes that made them irresistible to me. Often when I asked for a new outfit for my Barbie, it wasn’t because I wanted the outfit; it was because I had run out of shoes to chew on.
Well my dog Buddy runs into the same problem.
As far as I know, he doesn’t pretend any of his toys are pregnant, but he DOES chew them to utter destruction. As of today, the only toys he has left are a mangled blue shark missing his fins, and a shredded KONG Wubba. I just had to pitch several toys because the stuffing was spilling out of them.
That’s OK, Buddy, I understand. I’ll go pick up some new toys for you today.
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