Flashback: Jan ‘96, my first day at Hasbro Toys.
Mattel, our nemesis, launches a hostile takeover.
The cafeteria buzzes with chaos—
a larger-than-life Mr. Potato Head
careens down the aisle, bits flying, shouting
NO, NO! WE WON’T GO!
Naked Barbie dolls lined up on a cold grill—
a scrawled sign reads: Barbie-Que.
Fast-forward: 60 days past Medicare age,
a silver-haired boomer adrift among twenty-somethings.
Sipping tea,15,000 km from home,
at the Barbie Café, in Kuala Lumpur.
Hailey, 28, from Louisville—blonde, pretty in pink—
wearing an ensemble curated from Cape Town and Hanoi.
Six months before “Barbie” premieres,
ahead of the curve, we are jetsetters chasing fun,
posing in oversized doll boxes,
selecting pastel treats from tiered trays,
sipping frothy fuchsia drinks through swirled straws—
Reminiscing: You can be anything. YES, YOU, ICON!
My tea mate, bound for Montenegro
orders a souvenir Mermaid Barbie to go.
I sashay away—an old doll reborn—
joy tucked into my carry-on.