Little "Bratz"

First there were clay dolls, then wood dolls, porcelain dolls, and rag dolls. Then came Barbie, who scoffed and laughed at all the other dolls while she drove away in her pink corvette toting her purse and Ken. (yes, toting Ken.)

Then came Bratz dolls which make Barbie look like Mother Theresa. I mean, at least Barbie takes care of her younger "sister" Skipper. And she's become oh so many things over the years: doctor, vet....rockstar. Not only that, but she was responsible. She saved up enough CASH to purchase the Barbie mansion, 'vette, camper and kitchen set. Only recently did Barbie get her first credit cards and so far, I haven't seen her go crazy. I've yet to see Barbie Diamond-Studded Nightclub.


Enter Bratz. Partying, credit card totin', make-up laden, botox-lipped, half-naked, BRATZ. I can't stand them. They stand for everything I DON'T want my daughter to be. They're playsets don't include kitchens or babies, campers or houses. No. They include bar scenes, thigh-high boots and a "credit card swiping machine that makes real sounds"! Great.

Everytime Katie sees these shallow dolls, she comments on how cute they are. We were watching a commercial today for the latest and greatest hoochie doll and Katie says,

"Mom, did you see that?! So cool! I want one!"

Me: "NO."

Kate: "But mom! Why don't you like them?"

Me: "They're terrible dolls and they were made for snotty girls."

Kate: "No they weren't"

Me: "Yes they were. The toymakers thought that snotty girls didn't have any snotty toys to play with, so they made them some. And since you're not snotty, you can't have them."

Kate: "Oh. So did your mom buy you some?"

Oh snap!