I stood in the empty house, my most precious possessions already packed, my semi-precious possessions waiting to be assigned a keep/toss label, holding my Barbie in my hand.

“Don’t worry, you are a keeper!” I assure her.

“Hey, I am naked!” she screams at me. “I’m 45 years old, still perky, but naked!”

I wonder if she means butt-naked? Or buck-naked? Either way she is right. I get ready to pack her into the precious memorabilia box, the one with my mother’s ashes (another story) and I pause. I put Barbie down, turn and grab my purse and keys and head to Walgreens.

I am sure they will have a Barbie outfit in the “uh-oh I forgot to get you a present toy section.” So, in the 115 degree heat, I park, get out of the hot car and enter the store.

I search through the toy section, looking for the Barbie clothes. I can see them in my memory, the pink, flat, plastic-encased cardboard boxes with an outfit and all the accessories. The little heels, the necklace, the thin little beach towel or fake gym bag – whatever it took to complete Barbie’s new adventure.

Nope, none to be found. I guess I should have gone to Toys R Us.

“Butt-naked!” she whispers in my imagination. So I reach for a fully clothed doll, brand new in a plastic box.

Hmmmm, do I go for Hannah Montana, High School Musical or an actual $5 Barbie in a swim suit? Since we are moving to the Northwest, the swimsuit is out. Hannah Montana annoys me, so High School Musical it is.

Soon, Barbie is dressed in silver jeans, gray plastic heels and a tight (really tight) pink lace top. She looks good — trailer trash good. She’s been packed with dignity in the precious memorabilia box.