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Subject: {ASSM} Ann and the Barbie-arians
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Date: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 07:10:05 -0500
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Ann and the Barbie-arians by Annity Fair Repost from a yahoo site, not
written by Peccavitoon

   17-year-old high school senior Ann `Annity Fair' Berrybush found herself
in a dilemma.  She needed a part-time job.  Then one afternoon she was
staring absent-mindedly at her old `Student-Teacher Barbie' when in a flash
she was seized by an epiphany.  She would make money by dressing up as
Barbie for kids' parties!  How hard could this be?

   All she had to do was transform herself into a blonde cutie, which would
require just a wig, and one of those adorable little outfits that Barbie
always wears.  Then she had to hem her red and white checkerboard skirt
into a mini, purchase a short slip to go underneath, plus black pantyhose
and vinyl boots, plus a white shirt and red cardigan sweater, and a black
belt -- voila, the metamorphosis was complete.  Once she was transformed,
the rest will be an anti-climax: showing up at the party, modeling her
outfit, and answering a few childish questions about what it's like to be
Barbie.  Hardly rocket science!

   "Wow, why didn't I think of this sooner!  A Barbie impersonator!  What
little girl could resist!" she thought, impressed with herself.  Ann
immediately placed an ad in the local newspaper, then headed to the
Rochelle Mall to purchase a blonde wig, hair spray, make-up, and nail
polish, to doll herself up when her services were requested.

   Soon she heard from a nice lady, a Ms.  Fleischfresser,from the other
side of town, whose 7 year old daughter,Tracey, "a huge Barbie fan," was
having a Barbie-themed birthday party this Saturday.  "What could be more
wonderful, than if Barbie herself made a surprise appearance," the young
Mom pointed out.  Ann happily agreed.

   Saturday morning Ann rose early and began her transformation into the
famous cultural icon.  She hurriedly bra-and-half-slipped herself, then,
after sitting at her bureau in her underwear for what seemed an eternity,
applying her cosmetics and nail polish, she put on her white shirt and red
cardigan sweater, and squeezed into a tiny red-and-white checked skirt. 
Last came the pinning up of her hair, the prelude to the descent atop her
magnificent brain of her newly-purchased big bouffant blonde wig, lacquered
up until it was the envy of any TV newswoman.  Fully Barbie-ized, she
looked in the full-length mirror -- and burst into laughter.

   Talk about unrecognizable!  She looked just like those cute blonde
cheerleaders, the `popular' girls who were making her life miserable in
high school with the constant pantsings, skirtings, wedgies, etc.  How
furious would they be, if they could see the school bookworm `out-blonding'
them.  Perhaps they would assume that she was mocking them.  She had no
desire to find out -- hence the big raincoat, which she now wrapped around
herself.

   Ann hurried downstairs and out the door, stopping only to leave a note
on breakfast table saying that she was off to the library.  It was best
this way, for Mom would never allow her to wear a skirt this short, given
her unwanted and much-lamented penchant for attracting boys.  A bashful
girl, Ann always kept her legs to herself, save for her ankles and calves
-- yet today she was playing a fictional character, so the shortness of her
skirt was no reflection on her own sterling character.  Thus went her line
of reasoning.  Anyway a few gigs in this mini-skirt would make possible the
purchase of half a dozen long skirts and conservative dresses that she
would enjoy wearing long after her brazenness today had receded into the
foggy mists of memory.  Wrapped in her raincoat, Ann made her way across
town, thankful for how quiet the streets were this Saturday morning, and
reminding herself to inform Ms.  Fleischfresser that she had to leave by 2
o'clock, for that would give her plenty of time to get home and change for
her 4 o'clock appointment.  For she had promised Mom that she would perform
a violin recital for her ladies group, set to meet for tea today in the
Berrybush family living room.

   Finding the house at the end of a cul-de-sac, Ann ran the bell.  Ms. 
Fleischfresser, a prototypical soccer mom, answered the door, a cell phone
on her shoulder, her black pant-suit proclaiming "lawyer" or
"businesswoman."

   "Oh look, the entertainment has arrived!" she told the person on the
phone as she ushered Ann inside.  Covering the receiver, she added, "Quick,
get inside, we can't let Tracey see you.  Luckily she's out back playing
baseball."

   "Ms.  Fleischfresser, you'll be in the room the whole time while I'm
with the girls, right?" Ann asked as she was pushed down the hall.

   "Of course!  I'm a Barbie fan too.  She's a feminist icon!"

   "Really...oh yes, of course, I know that!" said Ann.  She wished she had
boned up more on Barbie.  It gave her a queasy feeling, being so
unprepared. She had not anticipated that the lady of the house would be
among those she was supposed to entertain.

   "Yes, I wouldn't miss it for the world!" the Mom was saying as she
ushered Ann into a small room lined with bookshelves.  But there were no
books -- only Barbie dolls, lined up like soldiers, in all sorts of
outfits. "Behold our Barbie shrine," Ms.  Fleischfresser beamed, gesturing
to the pink Barbie wall-paper.

   "I'm stupefied," Ann said honestly.

   "I knew you would be.  We'll have time after the party to go through the
collection doll by doll" -

   "Oh no," Ann thought, "she's one of those Moms who make their children
look mature by comparison.  What a phillistine!"

   "-- but for now, I have to see your outfit.  Throw off your raincoat!"

   Visualizing the money she would earn today, Ann unwrapped her trench
coat.

   Fleischfresser did a little jig.  "Wow, it's "Student-Teacher Barbie,"
in the flesh.  The resemblance is truly stunning.  You're adorable!  I
could just eat you!"

   "Thank you," Ann said, backing away.  "I had hoped that my choice of
costume will help to put teachers everywhere in a good light, in the
impressionable minds of the children.  Such a role model is a requisite for
their being infused with a love of learning."

   Fleischfresser leaned forward.  "Ann.  One small point: I'm paying for
the whole package, so you better not talk this way in front of the
children."

   "What way is that?"

   "All lofty and pedantic.  This isn't school, it's a birthday party! 
Remember: I told the girls that you really are Barbie, so don't
disappoint them."

   Ann gulped.  "I'll do the best I can."

   "I'll take our `Student-Teacher Barbie' off the shelf, so the girls will
think that you are she, magically transformed from doll-sized to
life-sized!" gushed Fleischfresser.

   "Then you'll be teaching your child the magical thinking of savages,
instead of logic and science," Ann wanted to say, but held her tongue.

   * * * * * * * * *

   Nervously Ann stood in the center of the Barbie Shrine, as trying to
calculate the number of arriving party-guests from the volume of the
squeals and shrieks from the next room.  "Oh, why oh why do I always get
into these scrapes," she wondered.  "That Fleischfresser must have a
benighted mind.  How could that woman get through college without anyone
noticing that she lacks the capacity for rational thought?  She must have
been a `women studies' major, taking course after course in which reason is
declared `patriarchal' and `phallocentric', so the more irrational you are,
the more distinguished your college career."

   Suddenly the door burst open.  There was Fleischfresser, standing in the
doorway, saying "Ta-da!" while the little party-goers ran past, looked up
-- and halted in the tracks.  Awe overwhelmed the little girls.

   "Life-sized Barbie, meet Tracey, the birthday girl!" said
Fleischfresser, gesturing to Ann to get down on her knees.

   Ann complied, expecting someone pink-clad and Barbie-monogrammed to
emerge from the crowd.  But to her surprise it was a tomboy in overalls, a
dirt-smudged face, and a backwards baseball cap.

   "Hello Tracey," said Ann, who towered over the girl even while kneeling.

   "Hi," said Tracey, without enthusiasm, her eyes glazed with
incomprehension.

   "I wanted to call her `Barbie', but my husband wouldn't let me,"
Fleischfresser explained, pushing her daughter forward.  "Tracey, give
Barbie a big hug while I take your picture!"

   "All right Mom!" Tracey muttered, rolling her eyes.  After
half-heartedly putting her arms around Ann, Tracey stared at her mom's
camera, her chin over Barbie's back, an annoyed expression marring her
8-year-old face.  "I hate you!" she whispered in Barbie's ear, as she gave
her a quick kick.

   Ann recoiled, pushing Tracey away and jumping to her feet.

   "What's wrong!" Fleischfresser asked.  "Why did you do that to my little
angel?!"

   "Obviously your little angel does not share your passion for Barbie,"
said Ann, rubbing her sore thigh.

   "I wanna build things with Legos!" Tracey whined.

   Ann brightened.  "I think you have a future architect or engineer here,
Ms.  Fleischfresser.  You must fill these shelves with books on science and
math!  You are a lucky woman, to have a daughter waiting to be charmed by
reason!"

   "How dare you about telling me to raise my daughter!" Fleischfresser
cried; then, recalling the presence of the children, she added sweetly,
"Can you understand what Barbie is saying girls?  I sure can't.  Must be a
malfunction.  Hmmm." She stood there a moment, resting her chin in her
right hand and her right elbow in her left hand; then, continuing her
ridiculous charade, she said, "Tracey, why don't you pull the string on
Barbie's back, so we can hear Barbie speaking normally."

   "With pleasure!" said Tracey.  She went behind Ann, in search of the
string that yields doll-talk when pulled.  Not finding it in the usual
place, the future engineer went in search of the closest structural
equivalent -- and found it in a loose thread.  A testament to Ann's lack of
skill as a seamstress, this thread had somehow escaped her notice when she
hemmed her long skirt into a mini.  Now it dangled from the middle of the
rear hem, just asking to be pulled.  Tracey gave it a yank, curious to see
what would happen.

   The thread lengthened and lengthened, until it was as long than the
skirt from which it emerged -- only then was there resistance, which Tracey
easily overcame by a great yank that sent the thread slithering to the
floor.  In its wake the rear of the skirt parted, from the hemline to the
belt on top.  Tracey smiled as the two halves of the skirt slid apart,
leaving only a short bright white slip, trimmed with lace, covering
Barbie's bottom.

   Ann felt a draft but remained motionless, for she had a job to do --
portraying a doll -- so it was paramount not to fidget.  She knew that
Tracey was behind her, pretending to pull a string, so it was time to talk.

   "Hi girls!  My name is Barbie!  Will you be my friend?" Ann said
brightly.

   All the eyes before her sparkled with delight -- as well as the pair of
eyes behind her, belonging to the little girl transfixed by the whiteness
of Ann's slip.

   "Now THAT'S the Barbie I know and love!" said the delighted
Fleischfresser.  "Girls, do you have any questions for Barbie?  Keep
pulling the string, Tracey!"

   Tracey felt the lace of Ann's slip, in search of another loose thread.
Not finding one there, she took out a pair of scissors from her overalls.
"Kneel down, Barbie!" she commanded.  Ann complied, and soon Tracey was
sniping up Ann's back, splitting in two first her red cardigan, then her
white shirt -- still in search of the string.

   Unaware that her slip-covered bottom was showing, her skirt having been
pushed apart so that the back of her belt was now pressed against her slip
rather than her skirt, and oblivious to her sweater and shirt falling open
in the back, exposing her white bra, Ann answered the little girls'
questions.

   "How old are you?"

   "43.  Mattel Toy founders Ruth and Elliott Handler created me in 1959,"
said Ann as her bra was exposed in the back.

   "What are you made of?"

   "Polyvinylchloride," said Ann as Tracey snipped the rear of her slip,
all the way up to the waistband.  Still not finding the string, Tracey
opened the scissors and ran the sharp tip of a blade diagonally down
Barbie's black pantyhosed bottom.  The dark nylon parted to reveal a pair
of big white cotton panties, peeking out through her parted pantyhose,
slip, and skirt.

   Ann's eyes widened.  She wanted desperately to check to see what was
going on back there, but knowing she had to keep still and act doll-like,
so she resisted temptation.

   Tracey sliced open Barbie's panties, tracing a great ellipse with her
scissors.  The seat of the underpants wafted gracefully to the floor,
leaving a huge cut-out region through which Barbie's bare ass peeked out.
She then snipped open the back of Barbie's bra, just for fun.

   Ann tried to maintain her composure as she felt the cold metal of the
blades against her goose-bumped bottom, then her bare back.  What the heck
was going on?  It was becoming harder and harder to sustain Barbie's famous
poise and grace.

   "You're pretty!" said a girl named Megan.

   "I like you...but I like Britney Spears more," said Kelsie, Megan's twin
sister.  "You're too hard to dress.  Your outfits are always slipping
through my fingers, onto the floor."

   "Girls!  This live Barbie is easy to undress!" said Tracey, sticking her
head out from behind Barbie's back.

   "You mean to say `WOULD BE easy to undress,'" the future teacher
corrected the child.  "Young lady, you don't know your grammar."

   "And you don't know my daughter," said Ms.  Fleischfresser, a proud
gleam in her eye.

   Meanwhile, the party-goers were screaming with excitement.  "Really? 
Can we!  Can we undress Barbie!" said half a dozen of the girls all at once
as they jumped and smacked their hands in anticipation.

   "I didn't bring any changes of outfits," said an alarmed Ann.

   "Boring!  Boring!" the kids started chanting.

   "Oh come on!" said Fleischfresser.  "We're all girls here.  Let the
children take off your clothes."

   "I most certainly will not!" said Ann, thrusting up her nose with
disdain.

   Cries of "Party-pooper!" rang through the room.

   "You're ruining my daughters' birthday!  Don't expect to be paid for
your incompetence."

   "That's fine because I QUIT!" huffed Ann as she walked through the
crowd. The kids parted before her, then turned to watched her leave. 
Laughter rocked the room, along with cries of "Look at that!" and "Oh my
God!" Weeping with laughter at the sight of Ann's bare back and bottom was
Ms.  Fleischfresser.  "Come back, I will pay you!  You're worth every
penny!" she roared.

   Ann stopped, reached back to see what was amiss, and discovered nothing
but skin, framed by the torn edging of her undergarments.  She looked back
over her shoulder and there was Tracey, waving her scissors in triumph. 
Grabbing her bare bottom with both hands, the mortified honor student swung
around to hide her state of undress from the crowd.  Now facing the
laughing children, she backed up toward the door, giving everybody a
fatuous smile, the expression she always wore when embarrassed, in hopes of
defusing the situation before shame set in.  But she severely misjudged the
location of the exit; instead of backing out the door, she backed into a
shelf of rare Barbies.  The shelf collapsed, sending the rare collectibles
tumbling floorward.

   Fleischfresser screamed: "Look what you've done!  Get away from my
Barbies, you clumsy fool!  Girls, GET HER!"

   Ann ran bare-assed down the hall, 20 laughing children at her heels. 
She had hoped to find her raincoat by the door, but it was nowhere in
sight. Knowing that she lacked the stomach for going outside with the
entire back half of her outfit missing, she began a frantic search for
something -- anything -- to cover herself.  Finding herself surrounded by
children clawing at the remnants of her outfit, she shot up the stairs, but
was tackled by the ankles halfway up, so had to ascend the remaining steps
on all fours, as a swarm of children piled on, tickling and stripping her.
Her boots, torn pantyhose, backless panties, cut-open slip, skirt, shirt,
and sweater -- all were torn away by the rampaging tykes, so that by the
time she crawled onto the top step, she was stark naked.  Except for her
belt -- which she immediately removed and snapped like a whip to keep the
kids away while with her left hand she took off her blonde wig and used it
cover her genitalia.  Backing into a bedroom and locking the door, she
found a baby sleeping peacefully in a crib.  After finally finding
something to wear, she ditched the wig, crawled out the window onto a
branch, and swung her way downward until she alighted on the backyard lawn,
before setting off on the long journey home, doing her best to conceal her
minimal apparel by darting from bush to bush, hiding between parked cars,
and dashing across streets only when there was no traffic in sight.

   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   "Ann!  There you are!  I have been looking all over for you!  Don't you
remember, that you're supposed to be performing a violin recital for my
Ladies Club right now."

   Ann stuck her head out of the bush.  "Please Mom, I've had an accident.
I am in no condition to --"

   "Nonsense!  I brought your violin downstairs.  Everything's ready to go.
This is no time to be shy.  Do I have to drag you by the ear like a child."

   "No, of course not, but I need to change...."

   "I'm sure whatever you have on is fine.  Now come on!" Mrs.  Berrybush
grabbed Ann by the ear and pulled her out of the bush.  So anxious was she
to haul her talented daughter indoors, so she could impress her friends,
Ann's mother did not bother to look back at her daughter.

   "Ladies!  I present to you my brilliant daughter Ann, concert mistress
of her high school orchestra, and soon to be class valedictorian!"

   Awestruck stares and crashing tea-cups greeted the proud Mrs.  Berrybush
and her prodigy, who dutifully put the violin under her chin and began to
play, seeking solace from her shame in the transcendent genius of
Beethoven.

   Mrs.  Berrybush looked back and beheld her daughter playing the violin
in the nude 

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