My mom recently sent several pictures from when I was a little kid. She is fond of sending weird care packages. Within one care package you might find a couple of stale granola bars, a pair of socks I left behind from a visit, a few photos from the 1970s, and some shampoo samples from Walgreens.
I have never quite figured out why she does this.
But I am here, with freshly washed hair, eating a stale granola bar, wearing clean socks, and posting this pic, so it's not such a bad deal.
Now, I'd like to point out a few things in this delightful snapshot of a bygone era:
1. Look at my righteous camel toe! Damn.
2. I honestly want that outfit in my size now. Red and white stripes, with a hoodie, a zipper and built-in feet. Pure terrycloth perfection.
3. Check out the background. Thankfully, I don't remember it. But I wonder which relative had the misfortune of living in that stark, grey, communist-style apartment? Note that I have a magic marker. I imagine I was trying to add a little sunshine to the place.
4. I think everyone from my generation had that haircut at some point. Not sure why, but it really did sweep the nation. Plus I had that hair until I was about 11. And on picture day my mom would comb it into a Republican side part. People often asked me, "Are you a girl or a boy?" (Except for when I wore this camel toe attire of course.) I refer to this era as my Androgynous Stage.
5. Once a dork, always a dork. Look at me. You can just tell what a dweeb I would turn into. You can see that in gradeschool I would be picked last for gym class, wearing uncool rainbow sweats as my thighs rubbed together. (Actually, it was always a battle between me and my pal Natasha for who would be the last dork standing.) You can tell that I was never going to be the cool teenager in a red convertible, the wind ruffling through my hair as I smiled coyly at my equally cool boyfriend. You can just sense that as an adult, I'd be sitting here at my computer, eating a stale granola bar sent from my mom instead of galavanting around town with effortlessly chic people.
Dorkiness really is all in the genes. There's just no escaping it.
6 comments:
I had that haircut too! But I have straight hair and I looked more like the kid from "Eight is Enough."
I'm a girl, by the way.
I had that hair TOO! And my mom let our neighbor's teenaged daughter cut me some ridiculous-looking, uneven, choppy bangs, so I looked EXTRA righteous!
I want to see the Republican side part.
Hey ... I think you inspired Linda McTavish when she created "The Stolen Vagina!"
ok, for the record, we were neither the fattest, slowest, or ugliest kids in the class, so there really is only one explanation for why we were consistently last to be chosen for the ever-exciting kickball team: dorkism. It's true, right? There is a shameful prejudice against dorks in our society. We need a dork revolution! Dorks everywhere unite! Dork power activate!
"Natasha"
Comrade Natasha!
Viva La Dorkolution! Right now we are few, but soon we will gather our minions and demand the respect we deserve.
Keep the fire burning.
Post a Comment