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      The June issue of Vogue FINALLY appeared in my mailbox (why the delay, Vogue? Why must you keep me waiting?) and I got to peruse the delightful Barbie set with the gorgeous Margot Robbie. While I cannot wait until the movie premiers in July, it got me thinking about my own Barbie experience growing up. I would rate myself a 8 out of 10, on a scale of fandom. Was I entranced every time I went near the toy aisle (remember the Kmart days of yore??), when all the pink plastic started calling my name? Of course. Was I fascinated by the simple cardboard cutouts that represented SO MUCH in Barbieland? Yes indeed. My claim to Barbie fame was that I had the MANSION, complete with ELEVATOR. That elevator represented so much growing up. And was it even a mansion, or just a 2-story brownstone? Actually, I think it was white. I was trying to remember if I had a Christmas memory - pre parents divorce- when I was gifted that and I came up blank, so it must have been a garage sale bargain buy. We were poor. And whatever that beautiful plastic 3 feet tall Barbie hovel cost, my parents did not buy it, pretty sure of that. I distinctly remember getting a Cabbage Patch doll in the one good Christmas (pre-divorce) memory, and I don’t remember that Barbie mansion which I most definitely would have. I think even my friends were surprised, when that mansion appeared on my back porch, like wow, who did she steal this from? I always wanted the motorized Barbie car, but my friend Alexis got that instead, and by that time I was much too big to fit in it. THAT was the penultimate Barbie experience. Honestly, I still might start collecting Barbie and perusing eBay for custom heels for those forever arches. I still feel the pull of the pink plastic, and as I got seriously shorted as a kid, I might have to indulge in my adulthood.