Ooooohhh, the flash backs.
Make them go away!
Teenage years are grueling for all of us. I had a few extra pain points than most. First, I'd moved from Las Vegas to a small (250 body small) town. This meant everyone and their dog knew who I was, but I didn't know anyone. I still think this has a lot to do with my continuing privacy issues, but that's another story for another day.
We also had NO money when I was growing up. I can appreciate the life lessons I learned during this time, but back then it TOTALLY SUCKED.
At some point in sixth grade I got a hair up my butt and chopped all my hair off. From the middle of my back to a short, pixie style cut. Only on me there wasn't a whole lot of style to it. In a way, I was just a trendsetter. That whole messy-cool look that's so hot today? Yeah, well I started it 25 years ago...only the folks in my small town were too narrow minded to appreciate my cutting edge brilliance.
Or something like that.
Like I said, we had no money. So Mom got pretty crafty getting those pennies to stretch. I'm still not sure where it came from, if it was one of my brothers' hand-me-downs or if it was a sample she picked up for free, but when it came time for me to start wearing deodorant, Mom gave me one of those super-fragrant Brut sticks.
Yes. Yes, she did.
And yes, I smelled like a guy.
But it gets worse.
Doesn't it ALWAYS get worse for me?
Brut had the debatable honor of being the product that taught me the difference between deodorant and anti-perspirant. Brut was the former, not the latter.
What that means is I still sweat (a lot)...it just smelled like Brut instead of rank teenage body. Gotta give them credit for the scent-branding. If you've ever smelled the stuff, it's memorable and distinctive. It doesn't smell like anything else and nothing else smells quite like it.
For Christmas that year I got one of those track suits. You know, the ones with the three white stripes down the side? Mannnnn, that thing was comfortable! So I wore it to a basketball game at the high school one night.
There I am, hanging with my friends on the bleachers. Short, rumpled hair. Stylin' track suit complete with embarrassing pit stains (those gyms get HOT!), but I'm not stinking because Brut can overpower even the mightiest stench.
And the principal...whose name I forget, but we had a nickname for him anyway...said to me
(wait...this needs it's own line)
"Young man, would you go close that door?"
That was young man. Not Miss, not young lady. Young MAN. I know I wasn't the most developed girl in the class, and I had short hair and wasn't allowed to wear make up yet, but seriously, did I look THAT much like a boy? Talk about an ego deflater.
I did what any self respecting girl would do.
I got up and closed the door.
...and started wearing bigger earrings...hahaha.
Care to share any painful middle school horror stories of your own?