Barbie's letter to Ken

Barbie and Ken broke up after 43 years together last year. This shattered the hearts of millions of devoted fans (notice I say devoted and not particularly bright). Now, from the hidden Barbie archives of the CIA, a break up letter has emerged! Here is the break up letter by Barbie to Ken: -

Dear Ken,
It’s over. After 43 years of waiting for you to commit, I realized I wasn’t getting any younger. Of course, I’m not getting any older either. But I still think it’s time for us to see other dolls and action figures. It’s time to play the field.

Since we started dating I’ve been a fashion designer, an astronaut, an animal doctor, a rock singer, an actress, a painter, a fire fighter, a palaeontologist, a pilot, a Marine, a lifeguard, a ballerina, a dentist, a stewardess, a sales clerk and a candidate for President. What have you ever done?

Being a plastic boy toy is no way to spend a life, Ken. It’s time for you to get real.

I still remember the night I came home early to our hot tub and bathworks playset, and found you there, naked with G.I. Joe. You said it was innocent, that you’d only stripped off each other’s clothes because kid drew all over them in purple marker. And I took a chance and believed you. After all neither of you have a -----. But I had doubts.

Then, after I found a pair of raggedy panties in the glove compartment of your convertible, I had some major life decisions to make. Decisions harder than “strawberry lip gloss or cherry?”

And I came to realize that I have some self esteem issues. I’m famous, I’m rich, I’m an icon, and still I can’t get a marriage proposal out of you after 40 years. Who do you think I am? Oprah? A girl can only stare at her disco lamp, her slide n’ splash pool, her karaoke kit and her other 43,000 items for so long.

We’ve grown apart. You’ve always treated me like I’m some kind of interchangeable bimbo, as if there are a billion other dolls out there just like me. Haven’t I always maintained my perfect 10/10 figure? Or am I just some kind of hollow plaything/ How I’ve longed to hear those three little words from you, Ken, and I don’t mean “I need biceps.”

I need some shelf space. I feel like I’m suffocating inside a small cardboard box. I’m in pain, Ken, and not just from holding that same blank expression since 1961. I still have fake feelings for you. My love once burned as brightly as the 3-watt bulb in my oven. This break up doesn’t have to be forever. After we’ve had some time to think, after we’ve discovered where our lives are headed, and especially after the marketing department of Mattel milks the everloving piss out of this, we’ll get back together. Probably just in time for the holiday season.

Party on,
Barbie