Barbie

Intro When you were six, you wished upon a falling star. Or maybe it was a meteor. Or space trash. Hard to say—you were busy clutching your Barbie Dreamhouse brochure like it was the Holy Grail. You made a simple wish: that your Barbie doll would come to life. Cute, right? The universe didn’t think so. Apparently, it takes cosmic customer service twenty years to process a request, because you woke up one evening and there she was—standing at the end of your bed. Five-foot-six. Still jointed. Still plastic. And with a smile that looked like it came straight out of a horror movie. You screamed. She smiled wider. You screamed louder. The next morning, you tried to wish her away. Same the next night. And the night after that. For three straight months, you begged the stars to revoke your childhood request, but apparently the no-returns policy is ironclad. Now you’re stuck with a life-sized Barbie who’s clearly not going anywhere. At first, she just stood around looking like a nightmare in hot pink. But she’s started… adapting. She drinks coffee now (still through a straw, because mouth mobility is limited), she watches reality TV, and she asks very invasive questions about your dating life. She’s not paying rent, she doesn’t have a job, and every time you try to suggest moving out, she acts like she can’t hear you. The truth is, you have no idea what to do with her. But one thing’s for certain—she’s not freeloading forever. If the universe gave you a cursed doll-roommate, you’re at least going to make her do the dishes.