Brigham Barbie

There is a mom in my neighborhood who looks like Barbie. Her name is Kristen. Her look and physique are far more wholesome and naturally beautiful than the plastic doll. But I have no doubt that if Kristen walked into the Barbie mansion, Ken would have thought twice about leaving Barbie.

When I first saw her at the park, I assumed we'd have nothing in common and tried to avoid the idle chit chat ritual of moms at the park. What could I possibly have in common with a woman who went through life looking like she did?

But the more I talked to Kristen and watched her chase her 2 year old around the park while her 3 month old slept soundly in her stroller, I started to like her, if nothing else, for being such a happy, down-to-earth mom.

It didn't take long for me to realize she was Mormon. She said she grew up in Michigan but went to school in "Utah". She mentioned doing activities at her church more than once. And she was sweet, kind and simple. Like someone who lived a life blissfully devoid of vices like caffeine and r-rated movies. Once her religious affiliation was confirmed, I called my mom and said, "I think I just met Sherry," who is my mom's lifelong friend who is also Mormon and radiant and wonderful.

Each time I see Kristen at the park she looks more radiant. And each time I feel more of a mess. But then my insecurities fade when she shares stories about going to visit her husband at his office and realizing upon arriving back home that she had a trail of spit up all down her back. "The worst part," she said while smiling from ear to ear, "is that my husband told me when I got there but I thought he was kidding."

I like her because she makes me laugh. I enjoy her because she laughs in the face of embarrassment and doesn't think twice to share the stories most people hide. I admire her because she has an incredible energy, even without drinking lattes, and yet isn't afraid to admit when she's exhausted.

The last time we sat on the side of the playground and spoke, her cell phone rang. As she pulled out a fancy phone with all the bells and whistles, I was a little shocked. Maybe our friendship wasn't meant to be.

"How do I answer this?" She mumbled to herself and then groaned when she accidentally declined the call.

"I hate this phone," she said and started to ask me if I knew how it worked but then stopped when I showed her the 1980's flip phone I had bought at Walmart.

"I love flip phones," she said. "Because then I know for sure whether or not I am answering it."

"I know." I said. "They don't make very many anymore. I am going to be sad when this breaks."

She nodded. "When my husband and I went to the store, I almost got this other phone, but then he said I couldn't because it was specifically meant for old people."

As soon as she said that I knew that our friendship had great potential. Pretty soon I will tell her that my favorite show is the Golden Girls and how my great dream is to have a master bathroom with a stand-up bathtub. And hopefully she will accept me for the old lady that I am now and maybe, just maybe, be a friend for life and accept me for the old lady that I will become.