It started early for me.

My grandma gave me a toy microphone on my second birthday because she knew I loved Bob Barker so much. When I was 10, I spent summer mornings keeping records of the prices of every item on the game. At 19, I cleaned up at Washington State University’s own “Price is Right.”

But what I have witnessed since the retirement of Bob Barker, the severe silver fox of the soundstage, is an affront. I’ve suffered the indignity of watching Carey spew bad jokes and struggle to explain the games long enough. And the time has come to stand up to the mediocre tyranny of Drew Carey and replace it with a new dynasty. Namely, mine.

Though I started out as an aspiring contestant, my ambitions grew with age.

After my favorite “Price is Right” models left the show, leaving an ever-changing rotation of know-nothings, I realized I could be a Barker’s Beauty. I’m really good at those hand flourishes they do and I could caress low-end cars with the best of them. Models who don’t know what to do with a prize and clumsily thump it with their index finger or rattle all the switches on an appliance make me want to smack their hands. Give me a chance. I’ll make that catamaran look easy to sail and bring the house down when I mime playing that baby grand piano. All I gotta do is learn how to walk — and demonstrate exercise equipment — in high heels.

But the show is in a crisis I could not have imagined. I must do more.

In the “Price is Right” I grew up with, the studio was Barker’s sanctuary. You had to play by his rules. You wanna bid on that dining set? Make it snappy, we don’t have time for your cogitation. Stand here, face the camera. You wanna say hello to your boyfriend and dog? Spin the wheel first, then we’ll see. And though Barker would allow the occasional hug or kiss, it had to be restrained. If your feet leave the ground or your voice gets too loud, he’s fighting you off with his archaically long microphone, security on standby. Maybe that’s why he stuck with the old mic.

I wasn’t blind to Barker’s autocracy. I had a healthy fear of him. One of my best friends and I had euphemism for how Barker got the job done, used fluently in our vocabulary – for example, to manhandle someone into submission, to leave bruises, was to “Bob Barker” a person. My friend jokingly Bob Barkers me whenever I see him. It hurts.

Now, the game is hosted by a man whose charisma level hangs almost as low as Richard Karn’s when he hosted “Family Feud.” No one begs to kiss Carey, nor do they suck up to him as they did with Barker. Barker ruled with an iron fist. The show has descended into anarchy.

Above all, when Carey hurries through his admonition to spay and neuter our pets, it makes me want to do the opposite.

Therefore, when Carey’s contract expires, I hope CBS considers new options, like me. I know picking Carey was a move to update the show and make it appeal to younger generations. But I’ll bring back the suspense, order, maybe even a little charm. I’ll keep it real with the contestants and only make jokes that are funny. And this animal lover will look each viewer in the eye and tell them to spay and neuter their pets, or else.

I know I don’t have a lot of the requisite experience, like a job in broadcasting or the entertainment industry. I’m hoping my ardent love for the show will put me on the short list.

If not for a violent coup, in which CBS executives will be Bob Barkered into obedience, perhaps I’ll infiltrate by starting out as a model.

See the woman stroking that 82-inch TV with an evil gleam in her eye? Yeah, that’s me.