This one. Mattel's 1996 Angel Princess Barbie.
The thing is, I knew I was getting her for Christmas... my parents "hid" all of our presents in the same places every year. Since there are eight of us children, it was a bit difficult to figure out whose present was whose. But I looked under the bed, found this Barbie, and then left the room.
When I opened her up on Christmas morning, I acted as surprised, excited, and grateful, as I deemed would be expected. No one knew. And I still loved her. We have family photographs (taken with my very own disposable Kodak camera) of my older sister and me playing with her on my pink plastic salon chair (it came with a plastic shower head, combs, fake hair attached to a barrette, bottles...) which we had, I assume, transformed into a castle of sorts for her.
I have changed very little since then.
In one month and thirteen days, Colin and I will have been dating for one year. He and I are both narrowing down our gift for the other, and I figured out what two things he was choosing between to give me. One was fairly obvious. I was going to buy it for myself and he told me to wait. The other he'd told me about in vague terms for a different occasion that never actually happened. But his clues were too good, and I used Google to help decode them.
The thing is, I didn't think I was actually going to get either thing... at least not yet. It was more wishful thinking... crossing my fingers that my present would be either of those two items. But then Colin was proposing ideas to a mutual friend, and I told her my guesses (she told me I was wrong and I believed her) and then she told Colin that I knew... and then he told me that I had guessed right. And commenced searching for new options.
So now I feel like a four-year old that sneaked a look at her Christmas presents and got lectured for it. Except that I never got lectured. But I feel awful. Because he's disappointed that my snooping ruined his surprise, and now all my wishful thinking (that would have actually been a reality) really is/will be just wishful thinking after all.
But. He's good at presents. I've never guessed what he's gotten me before, and I've loved it all. (Although I did have sneaking suspicions about the nine-month flower delivery.)
Lesson learned.
And satisfaction never brought him back.
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