I had one Barbie and one Ken doll growing up; they were my prized possessions. It mattered little to me that she had blond hair and blue eyes, but Marin thought they looked strange. Her dolls from India, cut from wood, had brown bodies. Their hair, black from dye, was braided down their backs. I cared little for her dolls. Though they were a reflection of us, I was secure in the knowledge that mine were truly beautiful.
