Take a stroll down memory lane with me.
When I was little I wanted a Barbie Dream House. You know, the totally cool mansion that Barbie lived in with a Ken of her choice. I remember my dad’s birthday gift was to be Barbie’s abode. He shows up and presents the gift to me like he’s standing on a mountain top, holding up the future Lion King. I rip the box open. My face falls. Barbie’s Dream House? Crap, I didn’t even get Skipper’s pool house. I got Barbie’s Townhouse. As in Barbie’s rent-subsidized condo. As in none of the other Barbies would come play because my Barbie’s house was straight from the projects. But I digress. When I was seven-ish, this was what had my heart racing:

Did you notice the deluxe built-in closets? My Barbie had to store her things in a shoe box.

Then about a year later, with their signatured butt-cheeks, these guys stole my heart:

Then in 1986, I totally fell in love with Maverick. (BEFORE he jumped on Oprah’s couch.)

The pre-teens years, these babies turned my head:

I grew up a little (Yes, I know. Very little.)and was beyond excited when I got this:

After I FINALLY passed that super hard driver’s test (ahem, four tries), I was walking on air when I got:

And no, they don’t make those anymore. I think they’re illegal in all places but a few third world countries.

But today. Today I got all excited again. Over this newest purchase:

And it hit me. I’m so pathetic. If I ever had any cool, it’s officially gone now. How sad is it that a stinkin’ refrigerator makes me happy?

Stay tuned. Next week I have close-ups of my washing machine. They’re just as hot.

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