Coffeehouse Barbie

Coffeehouse Barbie sits quietly in a dark corner of the Pink Tulip Café. She pretends to be deeply engaged in reading the Mattel News and sipping her caramel macchiato, but she’s actually trying to build up her confidence. Tuesday is open mic night and the last time she counted, there were five people in the place – five! Three girls and two guys including the server whose real name was Chris, but everyone called Ziggy because he had a blue zig-zag on his forehead that the evil neighbor kid with the creepy, red kool-aid mustache drew on him with permanent marker last year.

Ken is on the stage right now, droning on and on about his love for Bicentennial Barbie, every line rhyming - A B, A B - love and dove, heart and smart while Bicentennial Barbie slides lower in her seat as if she were melting into a soppy puddle. Of course the rest of us know it’s really because her knees don’t bend like ours. The only thing holding her up is the stiff white netting under her shiny blue ball gown.

Ken finally takes a swift bow and returns to his seat. Now is her chance! Coffeehouse Barbie stands up and makes her majestic march toward the front. Her long, Harry Potter cape swooshes as she bobs by the others. At least I’m dressed in something regal, she thinks. She taps on the mic customarily – testing one, two, three. She starts to recite her poem, “Ode to Quidditch” when someone’s ringtone interrupts loudly with “Girls just wanna have fu-un!” Suddenly Beach Barbie springs up in her sparkly purple bikini, her bleach-blonde ponytail swinging excitedly. “Hey, everybody! Surf’s up!” she shouts. “Midnight beach party at my place!” And with one great “Wa-hoo!” everyone hops out of their places to join the fun.

With a great sigh, Coffeehouse Barbie steps off the stage and heads back to the dark corner of the café. Tuesday nights are always the same after all. Maybe someday she’ll have an opportunity to show them how talented she really is. If only she had free will, she would punch Ken and Beach Barbie right in their cheesy plastic faces. She picks up her purple surfboard leaning in the corner and wishes Ziggy a good night. “See ya tomorrow, Coffee.” “Yup,” she answers. “Tuesday all over again.”