Do Not Think about BMR’s BMI

The other day my older daughter woke up and said, “I dreamed Barbie, was my sex ed teacher!!”

“BARNEY?!” squealed my younger daughter, incredulously.

“No! Barbie!!”

thBXZP64NAFor years, I hid the existence of Barbie and Barney from my children. Barbie, because I don’t trust women with permanent eye liner, I don’t care if they are dolls. Barney because, if you have suffered through an episode of his show, you require no explanation for my covert operations. Recently my youngest asked why Barney had not been part of her childhood. I sent her to YouTube, where she was immediately enlightened and, I fancy, grateful.

I remain stalwart on that weird, plush, dinosaur, but Barbie…now her I have softened on. If you have had the strange pleasure of watching an episode of Barbie, Life in the Dream House, you will know why (“Gracie saw Macie at the mall with Lacie! Tracie’s gonna freak!!!!”).

No way am I making that. It would give me PTSD.

My daughter went on to describe Barbie’s teaching methods. “A very important part of sex ed is learning to flex your muscles, please observe.” Barbie then flexed her biceps repeatedly while lecturing cheerfully, “As you can see, I am quite muscular and well-proportioned.” You know, I always thought she was kind of scrawny, but as her show has taught me, she once climbed Everest, in five-inch heels. That’s Barbara Millicent Roberts to you, pal.


BMR then paired all the kids up to practice kissing. Okay, so I am glad she isn’t a teacher at my daughter’s school, but she would probably do better than Barney. I imagine him giggling a lot and focusing on how myths of masculinity have systematically oppressed the chunky and extinct.

Though Barbie’s inner life remains somewhat mysterious to me, I can tell you a bit about her eating habits. She loves white (and pink) carbohydrates: cupcakes, pancakes, and all foods ending in “cakes.”  Luckily she works out a lot, (plenty of tennis) and has good genes, or Type 2 Diabetes Barbie would be hitting the shelves.

This doll is a snap to cook for. No cooking required, just whipping!  Don’t you think she would love some pink whipped cream laced with raspberries on a foot high stack of hotcakes? Oddly, my youngest is not a fan of whipped cream (she looks like me, but apparently, she is not me) but she did not complain when I served this on crepes.


I don’t want to act like this is a recipe, it’s just a natural way of turning whipped cream pink. Thaw some frozen raspberries any way you like, then mix them with whipped cream, vanilla extract and sugar, if you prefer (it is smoother if you put them in the blender first; I neglected this step). If you want to avoid seeds, you can force the berries through a fine mesh sieve before adding them to the cream. Any fresh raspberries at this time of year, in the United States, were shipped from Venezuela after being thrice soaked in fungicide. So shun them, and buy frozen.




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