All the Kens and Barbies sat around the table. (Note: technically, it’s now supposed to be “Blaine and Barbie,” but I still have a soft spot for good old Ken.) Amid glistening smiles and Coppertone tans, the fragrance of Polo, with a hint of Skin So Soft (yes, this was the good ol’ nineties!) wafted through the café booth. I nibbled at my burrito as the conversation around me finally arrived at its ultimate destination.


“So, Kevin,” Barbie No. 1 flirted across the table, “tell us who you’re seeing now.”


Kevin, the son of a state senator, was used to having eyes upon him. Being a Tom Cruise look-alike has a way of boosting the ego. As he crunched a chip between perfect teeth, an “I thought you’d never ask” smirk found its way across his face.


As all of us camp counselors leaned in, eyes bulging with expectancy, Kevin finally revealed the secret in a low monotone: “Her name is…Sandra!”


This only added to the excitement and wonder, because no one had any idea who Sandra was.


“Is she a babe?” crooned the resident Brad Pitt, alias Mike from Wyoming.


Say no more! Swift as the bionicman, Kevin whipped out his wallet. Moments later we all observed a photograph of the “hottest girl on the planet,” as Kevin so proudly referred to her.


“Niiice!” came the rumble of approval from Brad Pitt and Matt Damon (Wayne from Denver).


“I think she has a huge nose!” grumbled one of the girls under her breath.


I continued to pick at my burrito.


Barbie No. 2, sitting beside Top Gun, was next in t...