Diversity!

There he lay, naked as the day he was born to the planet. In all that hot, searing sunshine, a veil of flies surrounded his remains. As the red dust hung over the thirsty drought season of Old Hometown, the local policeman gazed at the ex-husband ,sleeping forever in the gutter by the road.

Roscoe pushed back his policing hat, wondering at the barbed wire fence of the front garden. He leaned down and examined the stiff, and the inadequate plastic Band Aids that barely covered the body's blistered genitalia. Roscoe hauled up this incriminating evidence, and hid the smaller male behind him.

He ventured through the front garden, where literally nothing grew, only twigs and dead plants, beyond watering from the rusted water tanks, full of questionable insects. Here, everyone boiled every drop of water from the taps.

Roscoe girded his loins, and knocked on the prime suspect's door. "Barbie Junior, can I have a word with you?"

How had this strange event come to pass, somewhere in that rural, drowsy old town? Barbie Junior had once left Old Hometown behind her, straight after she finished secondary school. In Big City, she had studied textiles, but decided the lure of working in an office and nightclubbing was far more entertaining.

In a whirl of boozy drinking, she had fallen for her future husband. She was quickly pregnant, and their wedding took place. In a veil of white optimism, she told herself she was just not meant to be a fashion designer. He husband, Siggie, was thrilled when their twin sons arrived.

Naming them Jamie and Jeff, reality soon set in, trying to establish a feeding and sleeping schedule. Weighed down by the baby belly her back aching, Barbie Junior was bitterly disappointed by Siggie's lack of care and concern. He was only after one thing, or was it also his booze and bongs?

He totally blamed Barbie Junior is the twins would not settle, as the once romantic flush of young love gave way to Siggie's backhanders, and foul mouthed abuse, because she had interrupted his social life. Barbie Junior had confided in her mother, Barb. Her mother counselled her, suggesting she bring the twins back home to their heritage, free accommodation, and safety for a woman.

The older Barb was one of those strong country women, she knew how to handle a weapon. She did have an Armalite under the bed, ready for that ex rat, always ready for homeland defense.

Now it was after the bitter divorce, child support not forthcoming. Siggie was no role model for any growing boy. Barbie Junior discovered that, in Old Hometown, everything had slowed. Rural poverty had set in, the old railway siding sanded over, the platform stood empty of a vintage town's ghost passengers, only one truck per week delivered goods to the couple of stores still open.

But the internet was mostly functional. Barbie Junior took up her mother's offer to mind her beloved toddlers, very active grandsons. She resumed her textile and design course, trying to see a future ahead. It was always so hot, but she had been born here. She was used to that. Her mother even put on a cardigan in the early evenings, if a puff of breeze blew, did not want to catch a chill.

If Barbie Junior wanted a decent coffee to enjoy, she would wait until the local heritage hotel opened, and walked there, pushing the twins in the double stroller. There, entering the air-conditioned comfort, she could sit in the ladies' lounge for a little while, where Flo the barmaid would bring her a coffee. That was supposed to be a tourist attraction, but few visitors ventured there.

Then she would push the twins to the modest supermarket, buy some essentials from the limited stock. Two half days per week, the chemist was open, the only women's support in town. The pharmacy and main street was patrolled by Biddie and Betsy, two very grey widows, ready to have the same conversations. They always checked to see if anyone was buying a pregnancy test in town.

But these mature chicks were God-fearing women, pillars of an equally vintage church, open once per month. The visiting priest, young Harry, could park his frequent driver wheels next to that old tennis court, now full of ten foot high weeds. Biddie and Besty were the church choir, and did the morning teas. Barb would read the prayers of the faithful, and do the best chocolate cakes known to mankind.

Barbie Junior bought some hair rinse, make her blonde bits more blonde. She felt more like fattist Barbie these days, as her mother's home cooking was so much comfort food, full of unhealthy choices .Maybe one day, she and the twins could head back to Big City, for opportunities.

Coincidentally, Biddie and Betsy were Roscoe's aunties. The graying policeman had once been the town's football hero, now his knees creaked a bit, his dark hair was graying in a very attractive way. He, too, was a mainstay of worshiping males, always propping up the monthly congregation.

He had tried to wander into Barbie's Junior's field of interest, but she kept to herself, not much else to do in Old Hometown. She was more concerned about raising decent males, with Barb's support. Hard task, especially here, it was a macho world, only for hicks in the sticks.

When the internet was functioning, Barbie Junior found that creating was cool. Always hopeful, she had designed some frocks for her childhood stash of Barbie dolls, and escorts. She had read about inclusion for Barbie. So all her fashions for dolls centered around a range of diversity.

Barbie Junior had invented a perfect array for Divorce Court Barbie. Their shoes were all tiny. Naturally, her Barbies had small feet, cause they were well-bred. Just like her, Barbie Junior thought, as Barb entertained the twins in some cooking frenzy, smearing the kitchen in cake mixture. None of that packet food here, no indeed.

Barbie Junior fired off her couture and labels to Mattel, somewhere in the global web. There was her new prototype, diversity revenge black frock Barbie. She had a very blonde upswept hairdo, power shoulders, impressive cleavage, sheer hosiery on her stripper's legs, and the mostest high heels, plus bling. Her glossy clutch bag was a drool!

Barbie Junior's next little design was Divorce Fantasy Barbie, totally glamorous, a real little lady in red. At her side, there lay a dead Ken doll, with fry pan embedded in his lying, fat mouth. "Every home should have one!" Barbie Junior decided, as she sent that winging across the planet to Mattel.

Finally, the perfect response to the tough times some women experience, all that baggage. Emasculation Barbie! Holding a banner for all women, "I did survive and thrive!" there lay a naked Ken doll, with an inadequate plaster on his blistered, cheating dick. Barbie Junior pressed send again, and hoped for the best gold standard millions from Mattel for Divorce Party Barbie dolls, full of diversity for optimal profits. Well-bred, of course.

Just then, Barb called, "Get the door, I am busy here." Barbie Junior took her fattist blonde self to the front door, and there stood Roscoe. Men! He grinned, and showed his gutter discovery. "Barbie Junior, do you wish to make a statement?' She blushed. She was sprung, but it was forever plastic, after all. "Whoops. Looks like the twins have been playing with my old design dolls.....it's all fun and games, after all, I guess"

Yes, Roscoe had found her effigy of her divorce fantasy. But how did Barbie Junior explain her emasculation fetish to the law enforcement, the only one in town. This was a truly diverse moment.

Strangely, cloud hovered. More clouds loomed, like Barbie Junior's cuddles. "I am a good listener," Roscoe smiled, " I like a bird with a sense of humor. Let's take this to the pub for some counselling for you."

Barbie Junior could no longer resist. Rain drops descended, the few residents left were celebrating. Hope in Old Hometown was still there, they all came from tough stock. Well-bred, of course. Roscoe took Barbie Junior for a meal in air-conditioned comfort, and that is how romance blooms .....The writer leaves the next chapter to your good imagination. Diversity dolls are very 'in' for divorce parties!