All that's missing is the Oxy pads and a Slush Puppie

Well, it's happened. I didn't even consider this when I started, but, all of a sudden, waves of adolescent feelings of inadequacy and shame are washing over me again like it's high tide. I'm going to let you in on a little memory I like to call "My-God-Why-Didn't-That-Girl's-Mother-Pry-Her-Tweezers-From-Her-Sad-Grubby-Hands?". I like to think that every human has at least a couple psychic chromosomes in their DNA sticking their little extrasensory hands in the air shouting, "Use me! Use me!" Well, see if you can channel your little chromies and figure out who Sad Grubby Tweezer Girl was. Go on... try.

By God, you've got it! That pathetic tweezer toter was me. And, my friend, perhaps you were already attuned to this, but, tragically, this isn't the memory of a sad, overplucked nine year old moppet. No, no. I was a sixteen year old girl with an eyebrow and a half. Sixteen. Blossoming boobs, sporadically burgeoning acne, sarcasm a little too fresh for such a self-conscious youngster. Go ahead and throw all that in a bowl, mix in a couple cups of self-doubt, and don't forget that eyebrow and a half. My psyche is too proud to let me go all the way there with you - the sting is still a little too raw. But, in order to completely paint this metaphorical picture for you with the broadest strokes my pride will allow, I'll just have you picture the following: I'm a sixteen year old smart-aleck, sporting tapered jeans and whatever Benetton shirt was clean that day - that eyebrow and a half a-blazing; there I sit in my health class watching the yeast infection video - and all of a sudden...out. That girl with the eyebrow and a half has fainted as Jill and Molly discuss the mysterious things that can happen "down there." It was all too much for me, as my biological fortresses just said no to hearing any more about cottage cheese discharge. Awkward adolescent? Indeed. Probably no more than your average sixteen your old sprite, but, ask any girl now who is at least twelve years removed from the adorable self-loathing phase, and she will probably have a similar story as my own.

What is the point, you ask? Well, just as Ernest Hemingway likes to remind us - a lot - life is, of course, a circle. As much as it hurts to toss my flaws on blast for everyone to notice, in the spirit of full disclosure, I feel that I should admit it: My blog has an eyebrow and a half. Don't pretend you haven't noticed. It's more than a little bush league. Its colors are a little lame, and its posts are a little long. Even as I sit here typing, my unknowing yet well-intentioned husband has shown me three much cooler, much more seasoned blogs. I have blog envy. Do I need a new template? Do I need to commission a blog template? Does this bra make my boobs look too big? I am there again. Jill and Molly, shut your yaps.