Thursday, September 29, 2011
The best part about yesterday's post that is the I used the word "right" when I really meant "write". Because if anything tells you exactly the state of my brain right now, it's that I didn't even use the correct word for my favorite thing in the whole world. I was thinking tonight about moments of my life that I truly regret and the only one I can come up with is the time in the hall my sophomore year when the boy on whom I had the kind of crush only a hopelessly romantic 15 year old girl can get asked me if I was allowed to date and I said no. Good little Mormon girls wait until they are 16 to date and I was 15. My mother later told me that for this particularly charming and well behaved boy there might have been some exceptions which just goes to show my mother was entirely wasted on a daughter who didn't even manage to kiss a boy until college. But that day, alone in the hallway practicing our scene for Drama 1-2, I was so terrified of what would happen if I said yes-that he would ask me out? that he wouldn't but now my hopes were up? So I stared at the floor and said it was against our family rules. For many, many reasons I am really glad that I was such a dismal failure at boys in high school, and college, and for most of my twenties and well into my thirties. My self-esteem has had to find legitimate things to be based on besides how many dates I go on and blah blah feminism blah. But I'm still a girl and sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I'd been just a touch less skittish about cute blonde boys with really great dimples.