I spent the entirety of my education, up to high school, in religious private schools. My first day of ninth grade was basically Reality slapping me in the face with a pillow. “WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, SISTER. NOBODY WEARS CULOTTES HERE.”
Thankfully I was sophisticated, mature, tres rad, etc.
In actuality, I had chicken legs and wore oversized t-shirts and bracelets I braided in church camp. To make matters worse, I was bumped up a grade when I was little, so I was perpetually the youngest person in my class. The late bloomer. The shortest, the youngest, and the last person to transition from an undershirt to a training bra.
I spent seventh and eighth grade in a slightly lax Catholic school where I learned that you actually could wear skirts where the hemline fell above the ankle. Still, while my peers were listening to Warren G and reapplying Bonne Bell lip gloss in between makeout sessions, I looked like this:
I’m not sure which is more disconcerting – my denim collar or the drapes in my parents’ house.
Everything about this post screams “date me,” am I right?
I think everyone has an awkward stage, but due to 1) me being in the same class with kids one to two years older and 2) having a mom that was still getting used to the way things work in the US and 3) being chock full of naivete, my awkward stage lasted a lot longer than most. To the tune of five years or so.
I thought I was going to regale you with tales from my youth, but I found this picture on the internet, and I’m pretty sure it’s indicative of what I was like between the ages of 11 to 16.
And mostly, it makes me LOLOLOLOL every time I look at it.
Tell me. When was your awkward stage? What awkward thing did you do? Oh dang, is that awkward stage now? Well, take off that scrunchie, girl. I’ll totally walk you through it.