A Very Good Year

My mother has always made reference to "my good year". This is an inside joke that we both find very funny (so please, PLEASE understand the sarcasm and do not mark my mother insensitive).

I was born, quite literally, one of the most beautiful of all children. As well as the most humble. Corkscrew curls gathered around my head like a halo....wait okay hold on. Afro rather. Yes, a frizzy Afro. But it's was utterly adorable. I looked like one of the girls from the peanut gang...the one who was nice to Charlie Brown and then threw a rock at his head for fun when his back was turned. Did I mention my hugely giant brown eyes? Yeah, I was pretty much the cutest kid ever.

Then...THEN.

Fourth grade, (or maybe even before) somebody (mom...was it you?) started beating me with an ugly stick. What's worse is I wasn't one of those happy, ignorant children that don't know they've gone ugly. I KNEW it. And it was very sad.

I remember my mom trying to help, in vain. My dad and her would encourage me to try new things, like basketball, art, or actually trying to make friends. She'd offer to take me shopping to get a cute shirt only to deal with my bad attitude as she drug me through Mervyns. She bought me tame, little girl make up (think bonnie bell) and I would break into dramatics saying "nothing can help me! besides, make up is for shallow people!"...and then I threw my Easter basket against the wall and ran away for a good 5 years until I was picked up by a nice family named the
Plonkers. They raised me in the woods aided by 2 fairies until I turned about 13....it was only then that I returned to society...

Wait, no. No that's not all what happened. Let me gather my thoughts...

I did throw my Easter basket, but I think I just ran in my room.

Anyway, long story short I didn't actually start to sprout out of that awkward girl stage until about 8th grade. I shot up, therefore losing all that baby fat....my hair de-frizzed, I got my braces off....I gained a waist and some other womanly attributes and boom....bring high school on baby. I am SO ready.

Until junior year hit that is. Suddenly I had acne, and coarse defiant hair....weight gain, no confidence...retainer lost resulting in crooked teeth.......

And as I shaved my head, covered myself in ashes and wailed to the heavens, I wondered,

"Will this cycle of on again off again uglyness ever end?"

Today as I return from Target with a bag full of skin cleansers and tooth whiteners I can honestly tell you...it will not. We each have our good year, and then become average like everyone else. Unless you are Heidi Klum of course. And I suppose I'm getting to the point of realizing that there is so much more to life and I really need to work on just being okay with that much loved ugly stick.

What was my good year? I cannot say for sure. As mentioned before I was an adorable child. However I believe my actual good year was 23. I mean it had to have been. I punched that age in so many times on the treadmill (which is probably why that year turned out alright...exercize made a short stint into my daily routine) that I actually still think I'm 23.

So let's go with 23....or 3. I'm fine with either.
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Me : "blah blah blah complain complain...sigh....."

Mom: "still waitin for your good year?"

Me: "Yep."

(laughter)

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Final pretentious deep thought of the evening:

Maybe ugly isn't actually ugly. And maybe a good year is what you make it.