Make Believe

I've missed blogging. And even though it takes my in-laws' computer about 10 minutes to load the page so I can write a post, I need to write.

I thought about this yesterday when we were all teasing, feeling sorry for, and admiring (all at the same time) my sister in-law. You see, she has someone in her life that at the age of 21 still likes to play house. And not just any house, but "Harry Potter house". My sister in-law has been forced to be Hermione on a number of occasions and has had to pretend to ask someone to the Yule Ball. I say we were teasing her because she was going to see this girl yesterday for a party that was non-Potter related, but few could believe that H.P. would be completely absent. I say feel sorry for because obviously she's not thrilled to be playing Hermione (she'd rather be Ron, just kidding, Laura!). And I say admiring because it isn't always easy to be friendly and do something you really don't want to do with someone who should have the mental capacity of a 21 year old, but doesn't. Kudos to you, Laura.

Anyway, I said this whole thing made me think of a time in my life when I was forced to play make-believe games when I didn't want to. In elementary school I was a little bit of a tomboy. I liked some of the girly stuff, like My Little Ponies and The Baby Sitters' Club but with Barbies I was really picky. It had to be a really cool Barbie for me to like it or want it. Like the Barbies and the Rockers doll or the Barbie with the poodle skirt. I lived in a neighborhood where there was only one other girl and she loved Barbies. All Barbies. And she loved Ken, too. She would have her Barbies go on dates and get married and have kids. Her Barbies would dress up in fancy clothes and shop. She would always want me and my Barbies to participate in this nonsense. She'd come over and we'd go out in the back yard, bringing all the Barbies into the wooden club house my dad built for my brother and me. She'd start telling me which Barbies where doing what, who was marrying which Kens, and which Barbies were the kids. After about five minutes (tops) I would announce that my Barbie had a terrible disease and needed to sleep. I'd then sit and daydream about other thing I could be doing with my time. If my friend tried to bring my Barbie back into play, I went to extreme measures and I killed her off. "Oh, she didn't make it. So sad. Wanna play something else?"