The other day, I asked my fiancé, “did you have pocket rockers in Venezuela?”
“What the heck is…was a pocket rocker,” he asked.
“Hmm, well, it was like a little radio — mine was pink — that you’d carry around with you wherever you went. The tapes were really small and each side played a different song.”
My pocket rocker followed me everywhere I went. There’s actually a videotape somewhere in the depths of my grandparent’s house of me singing oh so extravagantly to Tiffany’s “I Think We’re Alone Now.” My tongue jutting to the top of my teeth with each TH, my head jerking side to side with each chorus.
Now I know that just writing about this toy could either date me significantly or prove my youth — either way, I’m not too worried.
Does anyone else remember these?
My favorite blogger is at it again, always making me laugh, good to see you’re back.