Queen of Rambles

Living in my childhood home causes my mind to wander in strange directions.

Today I was contemplating what, exactly, my fifteen-year-old self would think if she came bopping in the door and had a look at me–her future.

She’d be devastated, I’m sure.

She’d take one look at my cropped, tousled brownish hair and fall into a mad weeping fit. Her long, golden locks (carefully maintained by Miss Clariol) were her pride and joy–her one mark of beauty. A popular boy told her she looked like Daryl Hannah and she attributed it all to her hair.

My 15-year-old self went to great pains to always look her best. She was a chubby dork, but her hair was always perfectly positioned thanks to an AquaNet helmet and her blue eye shadow was always perfectly applied. She’d despair over my smudged lipstick and stick-em-up hair. Who has time to keep that perfectly polished look these days?

She’d be shocked to learn I love to knit, sew, cook and exercise. Those things were all anathema to my younger self. If she saw my bike with it’s Dorko-sized basket on the front she’d surely die of the horror. Riding a bike is bad enough–it messes up the ‘do–but one with a basket? What’s wrong with this 30 year old woman? Doesn’t she like to drive?

Speaking of driving, why doesn’t she buy a nice car instead of driving her dad’s pile of crap? And why is she living withhim? That young girl hated her father with a red hot passion. Her every thought was consumed with escaping him. Yet here I am, living here and not even minding all that much.

My eating habits would be another area of utter awe. She ate a brownie with a Dr. Pepper every single day. That was her lunch. Dinner was Taco Bell as often as possible, alternated with chicken strips. Breakfast wasn’t even a blip on the radar. Fruits and vegtables were never considered, so she’d laugh and think I was ridiculous for actually counting my daily servings of the green stuff. I don’t think she’d quite believe that I usually manage to get my five in. The no pop drinking would bother her as well. Everyone drinks pop. That’s the only drink to drink, unless you’re a man. Then you drink beer.

Everything has changed so much. I’ve changed so much. Who am I?

At least she would be proud that I’m happily married, though she surely wouldn’t understand it. My 15-year-old self didn’t understand true love. Of course, she would be a little disappointed that the husband wasn’t Alex P. Keaton or Mike Seaver, but she’d still be impressed.

You know what would shock my 15-year-old self the most? That I’m perfectly happy. Really, honestly, truly happy. Overly styled blonde hair, layers of Cover Girl, reading till midnight and sleeping in till noon did not a happy person make. Casual and crafty are much better. Much, much better. Though I do kind of miss that reading till midnight thing.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 30th, 2004 at 7:26 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.