Living
(not so) Large
It
goes without saying that the
economy these days is something
less than vibrant. Still,
it’s a sobering moment
when you suddenly realize
that your daughter’s
“Sweet Streets”
dolls have a higher standard
of living than you do.
Oh
sure, they’re not as
well-to-do as Barbie, what
with her Ferraris and Corvettes,
private jet, multiple mansions
and the very obvious silicon
breast implants, but whatever
my daughter’s little
plastic people have put their
money into, it certainly hasn’t
been affected by the downturn
in the market.
At
first glance they live pretty
modestly – the couple
and their only child (age
unknown) reside in a small
country home. It has two bedrooms,
a pretty basic fridge and
what appears to be an ultra-flat-panel
TV – the thing almost
looks printed on the wall.
They also have an unusually
stiff plastic couch that makes
the clear plastic coverings
fancier people use to “protect”
their furniture seem downright
homey. There is no garage
and, unlike their fatter,
rounder cousins the “Playskool”
people, they own no automobile.
However
the family also has a townhouse
in the city – a two-story
Victorian charmer complete
with rooftop balcony and a
piano room. Without an automobile
it’s not entirely clear
how they gets from the country
home to the city home and
vice versa, but it can be
reasonably assumed that that
if not employing a full-time
driver, the Sweet Streets
folks at least use a limousine
service pretty regularly.
But
that’s not it for real
estate – there’s
also the beach house: a sprawling
two-bedroom contemporary with
its swimming pool and waterfall,
exercise room, and a rooftop
deck and hot tub that would
make even the producers of
MTV’s “Real World”
jealous. The “commercial
gym” quality treadmill
and the top of the line outdoor
grill indicate that clearly
Mr. and Mrs. Sweet Streets
have an ample supply of disposable
income.
Seriously
– what do these characters
DO for a living? I’m
able to do the whole “willing
suspension of disbelief”
thing for “Friends”
- a show where six seemingly
unemployed people live in
palatial apartments in New
York City that, according
to my friends in New York,
no one could actually afford
– but this is ridiculous.
Look,
I understand that they’re
just toys with pretend houses
and a pretend life. I’m
just asking why it is that
their fake plastic world seems
so much more comfortable than
my physical, three-dimensional
one?
Right
now I’d take even just
of their houses. Give me the
beach house - I’m not
picky. I’ll enjoy the
plastic lawn furniture, take
my naps on the plastic couch,
even sit at the table like
they do – with my legs
extended out straight in front
of me like a gymnast on a
pommel horse in a permanent
pike position. Heck, they
can still live there too –
I don’t mind being anyone’s
Kato Kaelin if it improves
my standard of living for
now. Glove? What glove. I
know nothing.
If
you need me, I’ll be
dragging, err, walking the
plastic dog....
This
Essay © 2003 Lee Totten
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