Alpo

For a carless pad, a trip to the convinience store is a big adventure. One sunny Saturday I had my 13 year old best friend over to play. She was dropped off at my house in a head-to-toe, black and white polka dot matching blouse and pants. Covering her not yet controlled curly red hair sat a black Debbie Gibson hat. What a rad outfit, I knew there was a reason she was my best friend forever. BFF and I retreated to the kitchen and snacked on Fruit Roll Ups and fudgesicles while we waited for The Mickey Mouse Club to come on TV. We were obsessed with that show. But for a good reason. The summer before, BFF and I were at a 14 and under club in Orlando and got to dance with (well next to) two Mickey Mouse Club members (neither of which was Justin Timberlake). We watched the show religiously hoping that one day they might remember that fateful night and announce their love for the two nameless California girls in the Bongo jeans and Hypercolor t-shirts. We were so hot that night.
Once the show ended (with no shout out to us), BFF suggested we walk a mile down the road to the convinience store and buy some magazines (Bop and Sassy of course). The feeling of being out on the streets, approximately .6 miles away from home was priceless. If I knew the movie Easy Rider back then I would have said the feeling of infinite freedom was comparable. Anticipating the thought of being able to drive in a mere three years nearly made my head pop.
On our way back from the store, magazines and slurpees in tow, BFF and I spied a car holding teenage boys. As the car approached us, a boy popped out the window to get a better look. The boy and I made eye contact and I forced an awkward, mouth full of cherry slurpee stained braces, smile. What happened in the next few seconds would forever change my pads self. As if in slow motion, the car drove right by and instead of throwing flowers and poetic complimets at BFF and me, the boy in the car began to bark. At us.
Totally unphased, BFF threw her face right back into the Bop magazine and resumed drooling over youngest New Kid, Joey McIntyre. I on the other hand, died. Up until that point I had had no idea that I was bark-worthy ugly. It's all part of being a delusional pad, your sense of self in the world is completely out of whack. Or is it? At a Father's Day brunch last week, my hot stepsister reminisced about writing a letter to her future self at age 12 and demanding, 'You better be beautiful by the time you read this, because right now you are UGLY!'
My mom likes to tell me that I was NOT ugly back then. I have pictures that prove otherwise.