I am the type of person who will forgo their own comfort in order to ensure that others are happy. Not in every situation, I am not a push over – I feel that certain things just don’t matter and I’d rather protect someone else than subject them to ridicule. There is this older lady at work who calls me Shelly, not a big deal, it is close and why point out that she is wrong when it just doesn’t matter? But see, now it has snow-balled and there are a couple of other people who call me by the wrong name and it just doesn’t really bother me. I would rather enjoy an overall pleasant exchange than have to point out that my name is in fact not Shelly and embarrass anyone. Fast forward to today, when someone overheard someone call me the wrong name and actually pointed this out. I mean, I was mortified and I just wanted to scream, It doesn’t matter! I know how this situation would have made me feel and I felt even worse, had I just told her that wasn’t my name then she would not have had to endure someone rudely pointing this out in front of half a dozen other people. And who cares that I don’t care if people don’t know my name?! But what does that say about me anyway? And why do I suddenly feel like a social pariah when all I was doing was trying to be nice, honestly. The whole human interaction thing can just knock it the fuck off.
I have been reading some Worst Christmas Presents posts and they are cracking me up so I though that I would share my own experience. As kids, Christmas was slim pickings and pretty underwhelming. We could always count on our grandparents to send us something totally bizarre and inappropriate but otherwise we would receive a lot of clothes, shoes and practical things of that nature. Now days, I am jazzed to get these items but as a kid – not so much. I was a total nerd growing up, Henley shirts, corduroys, Converse, pigtails – I wasn’t really a tomboy but I certainly wasn’t a girlie girl. I had a very particular style of plain. So, on Christmas morn’ of 1999 a training bra was absolutely the furthest thing from my mind. I was munching on a fabulous, juicy pear (I think it was an aunt who would send us fruit every year) and just loving life, not a care in the world. Then to my horror, in front of all of my male siblings and relatives (and gorgeous sister) I unwrapped a frilly, pink, lacey monstrosity of a training bra. My mom was by the fireplace doing that thing moms do when a child is experiencing what she thinks is a major life event, the whole clasping of the hands and head tilt – very made for TV movie-esque. I could have died, in fact in that very moment I think that my childhood did die. Talk about a day ruiner, I couldn’t even finish my damn pear. And for the life of me, I could not fathom what my mother was thinking – really, REALLY?! You couldn’t have given that to me at a more appropriate time like, oh say – never?
I don’t know what I disliked so much about the undergarment, I think it was the fact that it was just so pink and so lame. As I got older I realized that I could just wear nude or white or black sans the lace and I feel as though it would have been much less shocking had it been more neutral. It could have also been the fact that I didn’t have breasts then and hell, I don’t have breasts now. It is simply out of courtesy to the elderly and republicans that I even wear a bra to this day. It was the first time of many that I felt inadequate as a female, it was like there was a glaring marquee over my head blinking Underdeveloped. I never wore it, I continued to wear undershirts until I had to purchase a sports bra (again, for no reason) when I started playing competitive sports.
I never told my mother how much I hated it, she just seemed so thrilled and am wondering now if that should have been one of those moments when I stated exactly what was on my mind. Ah well, I never received anything so awful again and I love getting clothes as gifts these days. Oh moms 😀 And honestly, if that was the worst gift that I have received to date then I ain’t doing too shabby 😛
Thanks for stopping by ❤