Did I get your attention?  Yes, I thought so.  I’ll wait until you compose yourself and stop laughing before I continue……..

Ok, ready?

When I was in high school and even in college, THIS was the photo my brother would bring out when I would bring a new boyfriend home.  Can you guess what the results of this particular type of trauma are?  PTSD?  Good guess, but no.  Boyfriends imagining what possible future children might look like and consequently running for their lives?  Nope.  Thousands of dollars from winning Awkward Photo contests? You would think, but no again.  Believe it or not, living through the most severe  “Ugly Duckling” stage you can possibly imagine ended up giving me lots of friends and self-confidence.  Spending a good part of your childhood looking like this makes you talkative and outgoing.  I just naturally had to capitalize on my personality.

Now, don’t worry, this is not a self-help feel-good post. In fact, I’m not even going to pretend and say that “It all worked out the way it was supposed to” and “I’m glad I went through it because I came out stronger in the end.”  No way.  Here’s the truth:

IT SUCKED.

Believe me, I would have rather been an adorable cheerleader.  But sometimes you try out for the cheerleading squad and don’t make it and the next year try out for the pom squad and don’t make it then the next year you are still optimistic or maybe just dumb so you try out one more time and guess what you don’t make it again so then you tell yourself Hey National Honor Society is pretty fun too.

So now I will answer the question you have been asking yourself this whole time: “How on Earth is she letting people see that picture of her?” Well, I think you already know the answer. Because it is So. Darn. Funny.  And funny always trumps embarrassing.

I actually remember the day my 6th grade teacher, Mr Sanford, handed out the school pictures.  He looked down and saw my photo shining through the clear part of the giant envelope and made a noise I can’t reproduce with words but sounded like he was being stabbed in the eye and let’s face it metaphorically he was.  With a grimace on his face, he slammed the envelope onto his chest as if horrified for me.  You think I’m kidding. I’m not.  This actually happened.

Not shockingly, I have tons of these pics floating around because I never handed any out that year to friends or family.  This is one of those times when I wonder to myself, “Why didn’t my mom let me do re-takes?” I am guessing she probably didn’t want to spend the money.  This is a topic for another day: Why My Mom Often Took the Cheap Route.  With the subcategories 1) graduation pictures, 2) clothes for teenagers who just want to be cool 3) and at-home haircuts.

Anyway, back to me. Recently I was looking through some old pictures and realized that as I “grew into” my physical appearance, my fashion sense seemed to plummet.

SIDE NOTE:

There is no such thing as “growing into” your looks.  Unless you are Benjamin Button, you are not going to “grow into” anything except maybe those fat pants you keep in the back of the closet.  People always say “grew into” when they want to say nicely that someone used to look terrible and now they are attractive.  Because you can’t just say, “Remember how hideous that kid was?” even though you might be thinking it.  So you say, “Boy, that neighbor kid really ‘grew into’ his nose.”  This is similar to  “Baby Fat”.  That kid at church your mom wants you to marry does not have “baby fat.”  He’s 14 and he’s just plain chubby.  When you are 14 you do not have baby anything.  I know right now you are thinking I am mean, but it is just Truth. Also, anytime during this post you think I am making fun of someone please refer back to the picture at the top of this page as a refresher.

So back to my lack of fashion sense. I used to think I had a decent sense of style.  And that bad choices were due to things like  “It was the 80’s!” Or, “I had just had kids!”  But after seeing these pics as a whole, I have come to the terrible realization that this isn’t true.  What IS true is that I have never been much of a fashionista.  And as I ponder this thought, I have come to the conclusion that this is the result of none of my friends or family doing their job of telling me I looked ridiculous over the years. I blame them entirely.

For example, back in grad school someone should have told me that palazzo pants were not flattering on short-waisted, busty gals.  (I don’t usually use the word “gals” as it makes me sound like I was born in the 40’s, but it feels appropriate here.  By the way, this is the same reason I don’t like the word “slacks”).  Or how about the time I experimented with giant stretchy headbands?  All anyone had to say was, “Hey, do you have a toothache?” and I would have gotten the picture.  And let’s not forget my beret stage.  Why wear it in the style of a cute french girl when I could wear it low and backwards like Samuel Jackson?  And what about the unfortunate Summer Of The Do-rag?  And worst of all was my attempt in 8th grade to look like Olivia Newton-John in the “Let’s Get Physical” video.  My short haircut and subsequent perm were less Olivia and more Kid ‘N Play.

Now, I will say there was a short stint when I worked with a bunch of women who had high fashion and influenced me a bit.  But in general those days are long gone. Where clothes labeled Ann Taylor and Banana Republic once hung in my closet there are now clothes with tags that say Merona and Mossimo.  When I am wearing even the slightest upgrade in outfit (basically anything not stretchy),  my kids will do a double-take and ask me “Where are you going? Why do you look like that?”  And my favorite, “You look like you have a job.”

I did hesitate to post this blog entry.  But not because I am embarrassed.  No, my biggest fear about this entry is that it might be the pinnacle of my blogging career.  I mean, I really can’t think of anything funnier than this 6th grade picture.  I guess the good thing is that when people see this photo, they are often surprised it is me.  So I’m going to assume that means I’ve improved somewhat over the last 35 years.

And you know what else? Not one of those boys that dated me ditched me after my brother showed them this picture.

Thank God personality matters.