Thursday, March 16, 2006

brunette envy

Is it wrong to be envious of your friends?

A few weeks ago, I had dinner with my pretty petite brunette friend, and I realized while we were sitting there, sipping blonde colored wine, that we are the aesthetic opposite of one another. She is tiny, brunette, with dark eyes, eyebrows and perfect almost olive skin. I am tall, blonde (now), and rosy complexioned. I was having one of those nights, you know, the night where your jeans just don't feel as sexy and tight as they did two days ago when you took them out of the dryer, and your hair looks cute when you're putting it up in the mirror, but seems to fall flat and bounce less, and just looks generally weird the minute you walk away from the mirror. But across from me, my pretty petite brunette friend, looked perfectly pulled together, pretty, petite, and brunette.

I realized while we were talking that, ever since I was young, a part of me has wanted to look just like that. I guess you could chalk it up to always wanting what you don't have, but it occured to me today that I have another reason for feeling this way, and that it's really all my brother's fault.

As I mention in numbers 4 & 5 of my About me section, I have several brothers: two of them are 12 and 9 years my senior, and one is my twin. My twin, who I always dreamed would some day miraculously turn into a girl, stayed "cute" waaaay longer than I did. I know they say girls develop faster than boys, but seriously, I was like a head taller than him my whole life until highschool. My awkward my-body-is-changing-and-I-don't-know-why stage dawned early, and lasted a hell of a lot longer than his.

The reason our uneven development bothered me all those years ago is because, with his goofy crooked teeth and sparkly blue eyes, my brother always seemed to steal the show. He got all of the attention from the cool friends of the aforementioned older brothers, especially their girlfriends, who would dote on my twin whenever they came over to our house. They'd say, "awww, he's so cute," or "isn't that adorable, he likes Motley Crue!" And in the background I'd be jumping up and down, waving my hands in the air, going "I like Motley Crue!!! I like Motley Crue, too!!!!" But of course, no one ever heard me. They were too busy cooing over his big crooked smile and his sparkly blue eyes.

"What an asshole," I 'd think, as those cool older girls floated past me in a cloud of perfume, bangs almost as high as the ceiling, eyes rimmed with blue pencil. i wanted them to notice me. We were girls, after all. Where was the solidarity? The mentorship I so desperately needed, being the only sister in a house full of boys? "If only he wasn't here," I'd think, "maybe those big girls would notice me, take me under their wing, and teach me how to get my bangs big, my perm poodle-esque."

I was certain that if I was shorter and cuter, everyone would pay attention to me, too.

So, here I am, 17 years later, and on nights when I can't get my hair quite right, or don't feel 100% comfortable in my skin, I still find myself wishing I was just a few inches shorter, that I had a petite little frame, with small hands and a more feminine shoe size. I imagine being exactly the opposite of me, and wonder if my life would be any better.

Is that wrong?

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