Last night B-lo, the General Manager at the restaurant where I work introduced me to his roommate, Tony, for the first time. We were outside on the patio, winding down with a cocktail and enjoying the gorgeous summer midnight after an otherwise slow evening, because our core clientele were all in P-town for the weekend.
"Kitty, this is Tony, Tony this is Kitty," B-lo said. "Kitty's fabulous, Tony's fabulous, you guys are both fabulous, it's about time you made friends...
"You look like Barbie!!!" Tony interjected.
"Pleased to meet you, too," I said.
Undercover Blonde reports: there were a lot of blondes in the restaurant last night, and I noticed myself feeling competitive with each and every one of them. There was a model thin blonde who looked like a poor man's Cameron Diaz, a big breasted blonde with tan skin, lots of blondes on dates, older blondes with rich-seeming husbands. After meeting Tony, however, all of those feelings of competitiveness melted away. After being likened to Barbie, I somehow felt like I'd topped them all.
I'd like to point out here that, before I started this project, I could never have imagined myself as even remotely comparable to Barbie. And though I loved to play with my Barbies when I was little, I'm not sure that I believe in Barbie as an adult. Her boobs are so big and her waist is so small, I'm quite certain she promotes an unrealistic body image ideal for young girls. And that is just so uncool.
Yet for some reason, I took Tony's proclaimation as the highest compliment.
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