Mike received a letter from my mother today. I don’t know why my mom would send a 4×6 picture of my 14-year-old self covered under two tons of dockside hooker makeup, but then again, this is from a woman who calls crystal meth, “meta-feminine.” Look at that hair! It looks like a Q-tip that just returned from a hobo’s ear. I am rocking a vanilla face that is a completely different color from the mother-of-pearl shoulders.
Just so you know, from the waist down, I wore rolled-up shorts and skechers. From the waist up, I wore half a blue ostrich and the best made in china jewelery two dollars could buy.
The glamour shot was my rite of passage. I know countless girls (and one boy) who sat still in studios, holding popped up collars of pleather jackets or posing with feather boas necklaced on their shoulders. A year after that photo was taken, I started listening to Rammstein, memorized The Cure lyrics and perfected my WPM on #IRC channels.
And so I ask this: I want to see your glamour shots or yearbook photos, perhaps something cringe-worthy that you hope doesn’t find its way to you via USPS. And a paragraph about it would be nice. And if you send me a Target gift certificate so I can buy Nathan his Britax carseat, I’ll let you name my second child.
An email will do in the meantime.
EDIT: I realized I haven’t posted my new hair, so here goes. Now with flip!