Collapse of the House of Barbie

I have been accused of being a Pollyanna, more like Tigger than Eeyore, and being a Pathological Optimist.  My core realist knows:

1) I can be annoyingly cheerful (it is my primary defense).

2) There is some substance to the complaint.  But for survival purposes, these traits instilled in my 50s era upbringing and good luck since, persist.

These habits of mind make it possible for me to open the New York Times or tolerate the PBS news, at least for brief excursions into what used to be known as “Current Events” or staying “up to the minute” which is now exhausting. 

Occasionally, amid the discouraging news about impetuous declarations of war or momentarily distracting astronaut adventures, there are moments when I have breakthrough of simple gleeful snarkiness and the recent Collapse of the House of Barbie has proved one of mine. 

I am all for more women in leadership and have watched much progress across my life span. But these sacrificial Barbies took the catwalk to fame with relish and will get to keep their Jimmy Choo's I expect.

While venting my ire, I'll just parade my capacity for snark by mentioning my satisfaction that there is now some sign of real resistance to the idea of treating the White House as if it was collapsible Barbie House intended for play.

I am pretty sure the person driving the bulldozer that took down the East Wing was not a woman.

Thanks for letting me vent my ire; staying upbeat in down times requires honing your sharp edge on people who can love you anyway, Chickie is the kind of friend good for all seasons.

If you've already read Not the Trip We Planned, recommend it to a friend who needs some way to recover from the news. Kindle is available on Bookshop.org and Amazon. This is a great gift for a friend, for Mother's Day or just because fiction and friends are important for overall health and well-being in modern times.