All of our Barbies had chopped hair and bald spots. Their blond hair was dyed either pink or purple, depending on what magic marker the barber felt like using that day. Luckily, my sister did not want to cut my hair, which was styled in a short bob that remained unkempt no matter how many times I was told to run a comb through it. It was the sort of haircut that could be worn by a girl or boy at the age of five. Her best friend Sarah, however, had wonderful Barbie princess hair. It was blond, beautiful, long, pristine, and according to my sister, in desperate need of a stylist. Sarah loved her new haircut, especially the bangs that showed the majority, if not all of her forehead. My sister, always the creative sort, decided that using her extra-special Crayola scissors with the heart-shaped shears were the most practical tool of choice. My sister proudly displayed the hair of her newest client, holding the large clumps in each plump hand and then showing it to Sarah’s mother. My mom was on the phone for a long time that night.