I remember there were many occasions during our young childhood in which I banished P from my bedroom.

I was a major Barbie player.

It was a very serious thing to me.

I would spend hours setting up the Barbie’s house, complete with multiple bedrooms- one of which had a makeshift waterbed, an elaborate kitchen complete with fancy tiny Barbie-sized appliances, a fancy living room, the pool, the garage, I even had a bathtub that pumped bubbles.

I was pretty serious about Barbies-

but you already knew that.

Not just because I’ve told you twice just now- but probably because I actually made my own Barbie waterbed.

What a weirdo.

Anyway- when my mom moved some stuff out of storage last year, our Barbie stuff had been preserved in giant Rubbermaid containers (you know- in hopes that maybe one day I would FREAKING HAVE A KID ALREADY). I honestly thought about setting up a house. Just for fun. As a mid-twenty something. Yes. The thought crossed my mind.

There were many occasions in which a young toddler-aged P, because I was convinced she hated me, would come into my room and crush it all. It was like she was a giant Godzilla, clad in Osh-Kosh and pink bows stomping in so hard the Earth would shake, wreaking havoc on all around her.  Only, instead of destroying Asian metropolitan areas, this Godzilla was out to destroy blonde-haired, giant breasted Barbies and their places of residence. It drove me mad. I think I banished her from my room on a daily basis back then.

She was such a punk.

In case you’re wondering - the ban has since been lifted.