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I had seen her around the building from time to time. She had a sweet face and a placid demeanor and seemed like a nice, plump girl. I had no idea what kind of figureshe had, since she always wore big, loose mu-mu dresses. At about 2:30 a.m. on the second night of the blackout, after we had killed about two-thirds of a bottle of cheap red wine that she'd brought, she announced she really would prefer to stay with me rather than risk waking her roommate (whom I'd always found more attractive) by coming home late. Between the emotional shock of the breakup a few weeks before and my weariness (an hour of sleep at a time was rare) and the wine, I thought it sounded reasonable -- and no more than that. But in the darkness of my bedroom, I felt something against my face, then something else. I stood and lit a candle and discovered Barbie had absolutely enormous breasts. "Where did THOSE come from?" I'd demanded. She'd laughed -- gently, as with everything else -- and beckoned me back to bed. I was rather unprepared for the body so carefully hidden under the loose, oversize dresses. Imagine a woman who's five foot tall, has 32-inch hips, a twenty-five inch waist and a bra labeled 32-D ... and who overflows the brasierre's cups.

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