Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe that "unboxing" is an activity we can share. From my vantage point, it's usually just an irritating flurry of crinkling plastic and high-pitched squeals that interrupts a perfectly good nap. This latest offering is a "Barbie Cutie Reveal," which appears to be a plush purple creature hiding a plastic doll, which in turn is hiding even smaller plastic accessories. The entire affair seems overly complicated. However, the initial plush exterior shows some promise as a potential wrestling opponent, and the "mini bear" accessory could be a first-rate skitter-toy for batting under the furniture. The rest of it—the doll, the tiny clothes, the nonsensical water-based "color change"—is clearly designed for clumsy human hands and is an utter waste of my valuable energy.
Key Features
- With 10 surprises in 1 package, Barbie Cutie Reveal Care Bears dolls deliver the cutest unboxing experience with plush friends, fashions and transforming fun!
- Which doll will you reveal? Unbox to find fan-favorite Share Bear with purple plush costume featuring winking face and heart lollipop graphic -- so cute and lovable!
- Lift the costume head and reveal a Barbie fashion doll with long, blonde hair streaked with purple, posable joints and twinkle-shine eye details!
- Open the 4 surprise bags to find fashions and accessories like a skirt, headband, sunglasses, pair of shoes, sponge-comb and matching mini Share Bear!
- Kids can dress and style Barbie doll by reversing the costume top to find a super-soft fleece jacket with a fun print -- the costume head turns into a bed for the mini Care Bears friend, too!
- Use icy cold and warm water to transform Barbie doll's hair with color streaks and a new look -- repeat again and again!
- This series of Barbie Cutie Reveal dolls makes a great gift for kids 3 to 7 years old, especially fans of the Care Bears and those who love spreading sharing, caring and togetherness!
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The air in the living room, once still and thick with the scent of sunbeams on wool, was suddenly shattered by The Human's delighted gasp. She presented a cylindrical container to me as if it were a sacred offering. I gave it a cursory sniff—cardboard and ink, unimpressive—and turned my head away with disdain. Undeterred, she tore it open. Out slid a plush purple figure with a cartoonishly winking face and a belly emblazoned with two lollipops. It was an affront to nature, a mockery of every dignified creature that has ever walked the earth. She performed what she called the "reveal," which involved grotesquely decapitating the plush beast to expose a plastic hominid with garish purple streaks in its hair. My interest was piqued not by the doll, but by the discarded head. It lay on the rug, a hollow, fuzzy helmet. A bed for a "mini friend," the box proclaimed. A bed? Preposterous. I approached it with the low, silent tread of a hunter, my gray tuxedo a blur against the beige carpet. I nudged the hollow head with my nose. The texture was acceptable. With a final, critical glance at The Human, who was now dunking the doll's head in a glass of water, I curled up and decisively sat *on* the purple face, squashing it flat. It was not a bed; it was a throne. My reign was short-lived, for my eye caught movement. Amidst the detritus of four small, crinkly bags—the true prize of any unboxing—lay a tiny replica of the purple creature. It was small. It was light. It was utterly defenseless. A swift, expert swat of my paw sent it skittering across the hardwood, its trajectory a beautiful, silent arc. The chase was on. I ignored the doll, her now-damp hair, and the absurdly tiny sunglasses that had fallen to the floor. This miniature offering was the entire point of the exercise. After a vigorous five-minute hunt that took me under the coffee table and behind a floor lamp, I returned to my plush throne, the mini-bear held gently in my mouth as a trophy. I dropped it, batted it once more for good measure, and began a loud, rumbling purr to signal my victory. The verdict was in: the packaging was excessive, the doll was irrelevant, and the main plush body was a serviceable, if slightly undignified, seat. But the tiny, throwable replica? An absolute masterpiece of prey design. The Human may have her doll, but I had claimed the true treasure.
