We pull hair from your doll like weeds from sidewalk cracks. Our Malibu dreams dried up. Look, her fissures betray her sink-drowning. Did we finally make her plastic brains fall out? We meant: Lather, Sing, Repeat, Play. We wanted to shine like the gleaming spokes of her pink Corvette. I am as blonde as she. Unfettered, she rolls her empty head off the table. Lydia, what do we do now?