An audible gasp, followed by an over-accentuated, over-drawn-out, “Hiiiiiiiii!”
I remember you. Unfortunately I’m at my place of business so I can’t tell you to take your phony salutation and go to hell. So I force a wordless smile and hope it doesn’t look too much like a grimace.
You and your little friends made me miserable. I was gangly, I had unruly skin, my hair refused to curl and defy gravity in the proper ways and my folks didn’t see the sense in paying $80 for a pair of jeans so I wore off-brand clothes. And you all made me feel like I was diseased for it.
I was a nice person and I didn’t deserve that. Though I never would have let it happen in front of you all, I cried every day thanks to you. And don’t think I’ve forgotten any of it.
A friend of yours waits on my mother at the bank. You know, the one that followed you all around like an approval-seeking Chihuahua? She recognized the last name and now always asks about me.
“She was so nice,” the Chihuahua always chortles. That’s funny. She never returned the favor.
Later on, my awkward angles smoothed out into sexy, svelte curves. I learned the subtle communications that can get men to do anything I want, and make women admire and envy me. I wield power now, and do it forcefully.
“Oh, maybe you don’t recognize me,” you say. “Look,” (you strike a profile, a la Jimmy Durante), “I got a nose job.”
So, you felt as ugly secretly as you made me feel publicly? Good.
I hope you still do.
1 week ago
I'm right there with ya.
What I find so interesting is that now, instead of bottling our grief to be let out in the privacy of our bedrooms and diaries, kids are gunning down their perfect oppressors at school.
There are always those snotty girls who think that high school is the end all of life. What it is is just a tiny drop in the bucket...a mere speck in the whole scheme of things.
I'm so thankful that my own daughter can see this and that she stands up for the underdogs, even when she feels that way at times, herself.
Post a Comment