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When I was a child, we lived in a house that had an alcove on the second floor. It was right next to the stairs and just in front of the corridor that led to my bedroom and my parents bedroom. That little alcove was my everything. It was my ‘secret base’, where my brother and I would pretend to be spies. It was my 'school', where I'd pretend to teach my brother but just end up bossing him around. But mostly, it was a home for my Barbie dolls. I have vivid memories of arranging my Barbies (6 adults, 2 children) with their various furniture, clothes and accessories. On the other side of the staircase was the supermarket, while the corridor was Barbie's workplace. That alcove became anything and everything. It was my little heaven, until my dad would step on one of barbie's shoes and yell at me... that sometimes broke the illusion.
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