I'm a no-frills type of girl. Always have been. I grew up loving soccer and dreamed of being the first female Pele of the world. But my body didn't agree with my heart and by the time I was 10 or so, I looked to be much older.
Melinda, seven years older, was all girl and loved boys. I don't even know how many times I came home from playing outside to see her underneath a boy on the scratchy green couch in our living room. She wore a lot of makeup and tight jeans, and loved getting attention from those of the opposite sex. She used her big boobs (clearly in the genes) to her advantage.
I found it all quite revolting.
I liked boys. I wanted to play with boys. There may have been a few I thought were cute and wouldn't mind kissing. There may have been a few that I did kiss in the alley during the summer months.
But using my body as a means to get their attention was not something I was interested in at all. Not at 10, not at 20, 30, or 40.
I think it had something to do with the undressing glances I would get from 50-year-old men when I was way too young to feel their eyes on me like that.
It didn't stop me from wearing makeup though, which started around 13 or 14. Eye makeup only. Maybe I was hoping that by highlighting my green eyes, I could get attention away from my chest.
Through the years I've had stages when I’d be all about wearing eye makeup to wearing none. Currently I'm in a no-makeup stage which started when Oma’s health started to decline. And now with these allergies kicking my ass and then some, it's still best to go without.
I probably look like hell to a lot of people. I'm fat (really). I'm short. I don't wear makeup. My clothes are years and years old. I rarely get a professional haircut. And my dark brown hair is being overruled with silver.
I'm sure people look at me and think, "Oh there's another one who's let herself go."
But I’m OK with that. I am. It’s so much easier not to give a shit what others think—especially about my appearance. There’s much bigger fish to fry than whether or not I’m wearing the latest trend.
Really, who fucking cares?
And as for the hair? It’s been a long road, but I’ve come to love my silvers. And good thing, too. Otherwise, I may have taken offense to this drawing Lovie made of me the other day.
It’s official. I’m a blue haired.