A good friend of mine turned thirty today, and in a few months I will be doing the same. Needless to say that means I grew up in a time of Barbies and Easy-Bake Ovens. I thought those were girly enough - I can't imagine growing up female today surrounded by hyper-sexualized Bratz dolls and thongs for small girls. Hideous. But during that time of fussiness and Home Ec. as play-time, there was a beacon of the feminine not wrapped up in the skimpy lingerie of sex, or the apron strings of motherhood. And that was Mrs. Potato Head.
And count your lucky stars that's she's still around! Yes, she isn't as changeable as her male counterpart, but dammit, she doesn't need to be. She's got her big ol' red handbag, her massive ear-rings, her kicky visor and she's going to win at Bingo tonight, no matter what fancy good-luck charm Esther claims to have.
Her butt is so roomy you can store her accessories there. What woman could we find on the streets today who is so bold? I'll tell you: not one damn one.
And that's why Mrs. Potato Head is my new model of femininity. You get down with your bad self, Mrs. P!