A Social Commentary

            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 3^rd 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.