I love Barbie. I love to dress them up and make them CEO's of everything. When I was little, I had a Barbie who wore a career suit. She owned her own company and GI Joe was her right-hand man. Because his underwear was molded on, Ken stayed home and cooked and cleaned and whined a lot.
Now that I'm an adult, I love to buy Barbies for the little girls in my life. Now that I can read labels, I feel certain that my CEO*Ruler of Everything Barbie was probably actually something along the lines of "I Can File Alphabetically and Service My Boss Under His Desk" Barbie. I resent that there is "Animal Doctor" Barbie. Call her a Veterinarian. I resent "Preschool Teacher" Barbie. Why not "Highly Acclaimed and Professionally Sought After PhD Professor" Barbie?
So, when I give the girls in my life Barbies for their birthdays, I make a point of repackaging them. Instead of "Some Stupid Girls Never Amount To Much" Barbie, I cover the boxes with paper and write something like "Follow Your Dreams, Realize Your Own Potential" Barbie. Or "The Sky Isn't The Limit, Even The Sky Is Too Low For You" Barbie. Or my favorite, "Burning With Her Own Potential" Barbie, who even has a note asking "What dream will she fulfill today?"
The first little girl to receive such a Barbie from me was my friend Rebekah's first daughter. Several months later, Rebekah repaid me in kind by giving Ezra a Military Ken. Ezra never really cared much about Ken (smart kid), but a few weeks ago some of the adults decided to try on the non-regulation clothes that Ken had come with. Apparently, Ken doesn't understand what "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" really signifies. His shirt is too short and his pants ride too low.
I give you "Don't Ask; I'll Tell" Ken: