Mine were pizza parties in the dining room, featuring a sheet cake from the grocery store bakery with my name misspelled in waxy frosting. When Anna got the three-story Barbie Dream House for Christmas, a universe of pink plastic perfection, I received a secondhand counterfeit with a missing elevator and a distinct crack in the roof. My parents would simply remark, “You don’t need all that fancy stuff, Kate,” or the classic, “Be grateful for what you have.” Anna’s gratitude, however, was never a required part of the equation.