“Only if you make the effort.”
That’s what she said in her letter. I couldn’t believe she’d written back to me at all. It was a longshot. I told her about when I was little, and my sister would play with her Barbie dolls, how I’d undress them in secret and run my fingers over their smooth perfection. I told her that the media was horrible to judge her, that there is nothing wrong with wanting to look as beautiful as a woman possibly can. I told her about my dream—wrapping my hands around her impossibly tiny waist, gently kissing her plastic breasts. I promised to always love her. I offered her my hand in marriage.
And she didn’t turn me down. She said, “only if you make the effort.”
So I have set about doing just that. The first thing I did was legally change my name to Ken. That was the easy part. Next came my physical appearance. I started tanning, I dyed my hair blonde. I joined a gym and began lifting weights. My biceps are looking great—big bulges nearing the size of my head—but my legs need to catch up.
Last week I put a down payment on our Dream House. It has an elevator and everything.
Have you ever read about those human Barbies? It's super creepy.
A busy weekend ahead. Work happy hour and Improv Shakespeare tonight. Going away shindig tomorrow. Go-go-going away shindig the next day. Oh yeah, and I have to pack. But I'm going to have some fun in the meantime.