When I was young, I knew I was pretty. I knew I was pretty
because all of my relatives told me I was, because I was skinny but not too
skinny, because Justin Cote left a heart-shaped box of candy on my desk in 3rd
grade on Valentines day, and because no one ever said I wasn’t. I had long
brown hair that grew out as quickly as I wanted it to so I could cut it into
short bobs when I thought that was cool or grow it down to my butt when I
thought that was more fun. I never called it mousey brown because my mom told me I was a strawberry brunette and I believed her about that being a real
color because she always complimented me on my beautiful natural highlights.
She told me a hundred times to
never dye my hair because I would never get those highlights back and I would
end up like my sister, Stefanie, attempting to get her natural color back but
never succeeding. I was born with natural beauty and I was supposed to keep it
that way. I was also reminded quite a few thousand times to never grow up. Please, please, please, stay my baby
forever. Don’t grow up and be mean to me like your sisters. I did what I
was told on both counts: I never wore make-up, except to formal dances, I
didn’t have my first kiss with a boy until I was 16, my hair stayed naturally
medium brown and was only changed by the sun or a pair of professional
scissors, I only ever got piercings in my ears, and I didn’t start dating until
I was a senior in high school.
Slowly I noticed what had happened
to me: I was a future veal cutlet. My mother had put me in a small box when I
was young so I wouldn’t grow too much, move too much, or become less tender. I
was stuck in the mindset that if I followed the rules that hadn’t been
presented to me as rules I would stay pretty forever. College made me antsy. I
looked at myself and I didn’t see myself. I saw the allowance they gave me as a
way of keeping me in line rather than a gift. If they controlled the money that
fed me, they controlled the rest of me too. It took me too long to grow up but
I finally did it.
After I finally got a job, things
changed a little bit. When I was 21 I dyed my hair pink. For the first time in
my life my grandfather said something to me that wasn’t a tremendous
compliment: He told me my hair made me look cheap. I have two tattoos now, one
of which is a very large sunflower on my leg. When my dad saw it for the first
time he told me it was hideous and you
really out-stupided your sisters this time. I should stop paying for your car
insurance for this one. I’ve gained about 10 pounds in the last year, not
exactly noticeable or too unhealthy, just enough to fill out my cheeks a little
more. My sister told me my arms are getting fat, what happened?
When I was young, I knew I was
pretty. Now that I’m not young, I don’t care.
