What is it about the junior high years that leave us permanently scarred? Maybe it’s just me.
Last night I was in a situation where I was singing with two other — adult — women who were laughing and whispering while I stood to the side like the mousy haired, big glasses wearing 7th grade geek I know I am in my heart of hearts — listening to the Beatles and The Clash while everyone else worships Madonna. I left the room in tears. Honestly now. Will I not be 38 on my next birthday? Am I not married to a nice man? Do I not sport trendy jeans and a chic-chic purse (albeit a gift from my much trendier sister)? Yes. Yes. Yes.
So what’s the deal? Pull it together. Buck up, girl. Next time I shall stride in with my head high humming “London’s Burning” for the world to hear. Let them have their little secrets.
. . . we’ll see.