Bad Scene

WHAT did your kids get for Christmas? My daughter-not yet four years old-got a whore. Okay, not a real prostitute. Not even a pretend one. She merely got a doll that dresses like one. Oh, and spare me the eye-rolling about how I’ve become a curmudgeon. I’ve been to Las Vegas, I’ve ambled through the seedier parts of cities, and I’ve quaffed more than a few cocktails at the right (or wrong) bars; I know what hookers look like. No, I have never sampled their wares, but while I’ve also never ridden an elephant, I’ve been to enough zoos to know what they look like. In short, this slattern effigy my daughter opened on Christmas morning (we do Chanuka and Christmas at the Goldbergs’) was a gum-snapping, six-inch-heeled, F-me-pump-wearing ho. Fo sho.

She got it from a nice lady (a nanny of one of my daughter’s friends) who was trying to do a nice thing. But the moment we saw the “My Scene” Barbie, grumbles erupted from everyone-except of course my daughter, who shrieked with ear-piercing delight. The doll came with a little disk full of shiny plastic beads (presumably for her hair). “What are these?” my daughter excitedly asked. Before I could answer, my wife said, “I think they’re birth-control pills.”

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Jonah Goldberg

Jonah Goldberg is a National Review contributing editor.

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WHAT did your kids get for Christmas? My daughter-not yet four years old-got a whore. Okay, not a real prostitute. Not even a pretend one. She merely got a doll that dresses like one. Oh, and spare me the eye-rolling about how I’ve become a curmudgeon. I’ve been to Las Vegas, I’ve ambled through the seedier parts of cities, and I’ve quaffed more than a few cocktails at the right (or wrong) bars; I know what hookers look like. No, I have never sampled their wares, but while I’ve also never ridden an elephant, I’ve been to enough zoos to know what they look like. In short, this slattern effigy my daughter opened on Christmas morning (we do Chanuka and Christmas at the Goldbergs’) was a gum-snapping, six-inch-heeled, F-me-pump-wearing ho. Fo sho.

She got it from a nice lady (a nanny of one of my daughter’s friends) who was trying to do a nice thing. But the moment we saw the “My Scene” Barbie, grumbles erupted from everyone-except of course my daughter, who shrieked with ear-piercing delight. The doll came with a little disk full of shiny plastic beads (presumably for her hair). “What are these?” my daughter excitedly asked. Before I could answer, my wife said, “I think they’re birth-control pills.”