Witty Over Pretty

When I observe women who are not similar to me and whom most likely I feel insecure around because of their natural yet manicured looks and adeptness at cheery chit chat, I get swept by this urge to define myself, to internally point out our differences and to say, "Well I may not be that, but I am this...". I take on this us versus them mentality, like the witty girls versus the pretty girls, but then I start to feel bad because they have feelings too, and am I not just propagating women envy and the idea that you can't be both smart and pretty? Besides, I consider all my girlfriends to be beautiful women though some may regularly wax and some may regularly dig in the dirt.

These feelings go back as early as second grade, when I was the awkward smart girl wearing hand-me-downs that erred on the side of being high-waters and they wore seer suckered jumpers and curly pigtails. I wasn't allowed to wear pigtails because they looked like "devils horns" and I would never be allowed to pierce anything because, "God gave you all the holes you need, why do you want to add another?” So for as far as I can remember, I've valued function over fashion and have forever been envious of those fashionistas that inevitably seem to flock together. In second grade I swore I would never wear makeup or skirts, but that was shot to heck when my grandmother gave me tinker bell nail polish, which I got in trouble for not sharing with my little brother who was five and wanted his nails done too.

In eighth grade I noticed this one girl in a bright yellow silky tank had something I didn't and realized that I wasn't exactly sitting pretty in my Umbro's and T. I can't tell you how many times in eighth, ninth and probably tenth grade that I prayed that God would make my boobs grow. "Please, just a handful!" I realized I had a boyish figure, but I didn't want that. Now, I can totally rock a skirt, but when I put on a pair of heels, I feel like a fake, and when I wear jeans and a beat up T I feel invincible, even a little sexy.

Today if I see a friend donning a skirt or tight jeans and tall boots and a handbag the size of Zimbabwe with her hair smoothed and face put on, most likely I will instantly hate on her a little and be overwhelmed with envy that she carries it off with such ease. And when her like-faced friends are drawn like magnets to the large hunk of iron I KNOW she has secretly stashed in that HUGE bag, I will immediately long for an invitation to be there, but I am just not magnetized that way and am probably even a bit repelled, as I hold my elbows, suck in my tummy a little and try to look witty and engaged in something else.

My element is not being in public. I absolutely dread having to walk in front of people, especially during communion on Sundays, and for awhile would beg Joe not to make me go as my heart raced and palms sweated and I was totally distracted from the music. I remember taking swim lessons at the Y and peeing in the pool just so I didn't draw attention to myself by asking to go to the bathroom. My friends may laugh because I am such a goofball and verbally loose cannon once they know me, but I am intensely shy and insecure around girls I have placed in the pretty over witty category. I've always felt more comfortable around guys, because guys don't care what you wear. I've told Joe time and time again that girls dress up for the other girls, not the guys. Last week he said that was silly because "Isn't it most important what I think?" Yes, love, it is and I love that you love me how I am.