My daughter has a birthday coming up. It’s a tough one: the big oh-eight. I say it’s tough because try shopping for an 8-year-old girl’s birthday present. They call them “tweeners": not ready for the pre-teen stuff like makeup and the like, but My Little Pony may have reached maximum shelf life.

My husband and I pored over Target’s toy shelves. “How about this?” asked my husband, pointing out the latest craze, a “Bratz” doll. “No way,” I responded. “No Bratz in our house. Those things just teach girls to be miniature ho’s,” I said, pointing out the extreme makeup and slutty clothing. “Oh, but those don’t?” He asked, eyeing the Barbie doll I’d put in the cart.

“Back away from the Barbies, Mr. Steinem,” I said. “They may have unobtainable physical proportions, but I had them growing up, and I came out just fine.”

In the end we settled on a new set of junior U.S. Kids golf clubs for our budding golfer. A new electric-blue bag, new clubs, new shoes, the whole deal. None of it comes in pink, but one can’t have everything.

And in the end, I got my way. Along with her new clubs, my daughter will get her Barbies. And, oh yeah, a My Little Pony.

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