Hey, Barbie, What’s Your Sign?
(Variations of this essay were awarded the 2018 Royal Nonesuch Humor Writing Contest Adult Author Category — Third Prize and 2019 Erma Bombeck Humorist In-Residence- Honorary Mention)
Hey Barbie, What’s Your Sign?
I was at a Barbie doll convention when I found out my marriage was doomed.
Hurrying across the hotel lobby, I tried to keep my voice down as I hissed into my phone at my husband. I was late for my volunteer shift at this chain hotel in the suburbs, but I still needed to wrap up the fight we’d been having on my way there. Neither of us were yielding any points. He’s a fairly smart guy, but on the particular issue we were debating, he was 100% wrong. It’s my sworn duty (and pleasure) to inform him of things like that, and since he was not being at all receptive to my helpful feedback, I had to conclude that he was wrong, and also, a turd.
My righteous anger still burned, but when I turned down the hallway of the convention hall, my lecture caught in my throat.
So. Much. Pink.
I counted three bejeweled fanny packs. I’d have to call him back.
Barbie convention HQ was a folding table in front of a storage room across from the convention hall. I introduced myself as a volunteer with my charity organization, and…