Shark Barbie

My nickname is Shark Barbie. Most people call me that behind my back, but a few have made the mistake of calling me that to my face. My friend Roger Horrocks gave me the nickname, and I think he must smile his broad, mischievous smile every time I squirm in discomfort when I hear the term, knowing the annoyance he has caused.

It is amazing how a nickname can stick – particularly one you dislike. People who have just met me already seem to know it… like it is a private joke everyone is in on… but me. I have a new strategy though. From now on, instead of fighting it, I have decided to openly embrace it. Perhaps if I don’t protest so much, it won’t be as fun to tease me with and it will quickly fall by the wayside…

Funny thing is, my mom NEVER let me play with dolls (with Barbie a particularly banned toy) when I was a kid. Male-created, unrealistic, gender-based stereotypes of women as the buxom blondes who are just supposed to look good and prance around in gold lame evening dresses from the horse stables, to their pink convertibles, to daily weddings with Ken to then return to the dream house and play wife, I guess, wasn’t what my mom wanted me to aspire to. How about an adventurous blonde chick who has created and owned her own destiny, is completely independent, and is just as comfortable mashing dead sardines between her fingers to feed to sharks as she is dressing up for a fun evening with the girls on the town? Yes , I guess I am Shark Barbie. But don’t you dare say it to my face… Or my mom’s…