Some men do not outgrow love for toys

Browsing through the internet I read that Barbie, the famous girls’ toy is now past her fiftieth birthday (58). Not that I care one bit about Barbie, but curiosity nonetheless, got the better of me. Apparently, Barbie still remains as beautiful as ever – with white flowing hair, hazel eyes and all what epitomizes the concept of ‘beauty’ for the American folks.

For those of who do not know Barbie, let me clear the air for you; she happens to be the girl toy my younger sister always cuddled around as I pored through Superman comics, watched Flintstones on our 12-inch Great Wall black and white TV or played with the red toy Ferrari my old geezer had bought on a trip to the city. She was the darling of my younger sister that I often ‘beheaded’ Barbie whenever my kid sister threatened to report to our parents the many felonies I committed during the day, for which my buttocks were spanked raw by mom.

Toys don’t grow old. My however, spouse’s age has continued to change as she gets to her early-forties. Her looks and shape have lost the girlie look she had when we first met. I know that it is a matter of time before she develops a sagging belly, stretch marks or wrinkles that come along as she crossed fortieth mark. I am not exempt from aging. Every day, I find grey hairs on my head increasing in leaps and bounds. Soon, they will be growing on you-know-where. She now wears a no-nonsense womanly face.

My spouse might have discarded Barbie after she acquired breathing ones in the name of children but my red-car-toy psyche has refused to depart from me my advancing age notwithstanding. The little boy in me is obsessed with toys of differing forms. The mere fact that I smother my son with such toys and comic books is indicative of my refusal to grow up – sorts of secret wishful cravings for fancy toys of my boyhood. How about the various toys in my possession in the form of electronic gadgets that clutter my house?

TVs or any other electronic gadget that bore are indeed toys.