That's me, in the middle. At girl scout camp. Circa 1985. With two girls my own age. And I wondered why a boy called me "Mouse" in fourth grade. Look at my knees! Jesus. You can't even see them they are so small and knobby. I am practically invisible. No wonder I sucked at dodgeball and was humiliated in gym class repeatedly.
Speaking of humiliation. Behold my father.
Oh dear. We have a thick beard, a hat covered in fishing flies, a dead fish. Wow. So, maybe this would explain why I wanted him to drop me off across the street from school. And this one time, I almost died because dad drove me to school without a shirt on. Everyone would think a naked man was, like, driving me to school. Like, God! Parents are, like, so embarrassing.
And I thought my 40-year old mom's clothes were bad. She was, like, so out of style. *Angsty teenage eye roll* And she had the nerve to get pregnant when I was in fifth grade. Like, ew. All my friends will know what my gross parents were up to.
Let's zoom in, shall we? Acid washed denim skirts. Keds. White socks, folded down. Big belts. Big, BIG shirts tucked in. Don't you remember wadding up the piles of fabric under your waistband? And then pulling some of it back out to fluff it out? And the hair. Oh the hair. Is it just me, or do I look completely out of proportion? Like the top half of my body belongs to a Weeble, and the bottom half to a pencil?
Oh 1987, you bastard. You and your evil twin, Middle School.
Future Draft Mode.
10 hours ago