Went to the hippie market here in Ipanema the other Sunday (need to fit some touristy things in every now and then) and suddenly wished that I was 8 years old again. This old Brazilian lady was selling homemade Barbie dresses. Absolutely gorgeous creations for not even a fraction of the price you would pay for a commercialised one in a pink box. I just had to get one, but couldn’t really buy it for myself, could I? Used all my brain cells, which hadn’t melted in the heat yet, to try and think of someone who I know who plays with Barbie. Harder than I though actually but guess that’s the nature of being in your 30ies. Friends, and siblings of friends, are all too old and children of friends are still too young. After some 3 minutes and 12 seconds of thinking about it, I concluded that I had to buy it anyways, worst case I could just save if for a bunch of years until someone’s daughter turns Barbie-age. As soon as I got home, I sent some e-mails around and the mission was completed pretty quickly. Maja, 6 years, will be the (hopefully) happy owner of it. I’m quite sure she’s not one of my most frequent blog readers so won’t spoil anything for her birthday by writing it here.
As soon as I’d figured out whom to give the Barbie dress to, I was pretty fine with not being a child again. Lots of things are quite nice with being an adult. One of best ones is that you can eat anything you want, for any meal, at any time, and no one will tell you that you can’t have it. My favourite is popping corn for dinner.
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