I feel like the ultimate Ms. Priss. I spent a substantial part of last evening searching for and bidding on a silvery-diamond-ish tiara-comb thing on Ebay. AND my foster father* is going to have to follow up on the auction for me tonight throughout his fantasy baseball draft.
My mom is going to pass that kidney stone when she hears that.
Mom loves to relive the days when I refused to wear/do any of the following:
- a dress/skirt/skort/long towels
- makeup (although mom had me wearing mascara when i was about 10 ... something about how my 3" thick lenses kept people from seeing my beautiful eyes. not sure the mascara did anything but smear black goo all over the inside of my glass lenses ... story here ... save for later)
- shoes (i have the callouses to prove this)
- wash my hair more than once or twice a week ("helped" the frizz problem)
- brush my hair (truly i didn't ever brush it)
- tuck in my shirt (erroneous assumption that "baggy" hides the fat)
- not wear overalls/sweats (again, baggy)
- anything that might give someone the urge to tell me i looked "cute"
- socks that were not white
- carry a purse
I was The. Coolest.
It's not so much that I thought I was ugly, as I actually WAS ugly. You can't impose all of the above rules and have anyone still find you attractive. However, as in most things in life, I blame my mother for instigating the efforts-to-shun-my-gender when she gave me that perm/bang combo (to my already miserably thick and frizzy fro) in 4th grade. How do you recover from something like that?
But by 9:00 tonight, I should have my very own tiara. How's that for recovery?
* Since I moved out of my apartment last week and in with friends, I have gained foster parents. And a Tivo for a sibling. Ahhhh ....
Moving Forward vs. Moving On
2 months ago