Since 1962, a lot of little girls have coveted the Barbie DreamHouse. I was one of them. I never got one, although one of my cousins got me some sort of Barbie boutique in the mid-60s that was made out of pressed cardboard and didn’t survive its years in the attic.
I am fairly certain that it was bigger than this trailer.
We spend our early lives imagining what it would be like to exist in another dimension, with perfect hair, an extensive wardrobe, the perfect spouse (with the perfect smile), a pink convertible (since as far as I know, Barbie’s car didn’t come in an all-black option), in a tiny portable world that could be disassembled and shoved under the bed.
Here I am, kind of living in that world of tiny portability. It doesn’t come with the hair or the wardrobe (although I can keep more clothes inside than I thought I could), and the spouse is great, with a mischievous smile. And my car is all black — and it can almost pull my house! Remember, I told you (me) to be careful what you (I) wish for….