The other night at Delaney’s, Lampo was telling me that she thought I was hot. And of course, being how I am, I ended up lying on the floor with my hair covering my face and my hands over that to avoid facing the conversation. And really it could’ve been such a non-issue if I’d just taken the damn compliment. But I didn’t. And now she and Callan have taken it upon themselves to tell me they think I’m attractive in some form every ten seconds. Oh, and then they told Kip, which was really just unnecessary and weird and what.
Something Callan said that night really stuck with me though. I can’t quote it exactly, but it was basically that whenever somebody checks one of us out, I will automatically assume it’s her or Lampo getting checked out instead of me. First of all, I’m so oblivious I rarely notice anyone looking at us, much less checking us out. But second, God that is so true. And honestly, even while she was saying it, I was thinking, “Duh. When Lampo or Callan or anyone really is next to me, why would somebody check me out?”
And really, the teasing doesn’t bother me. I don’t care if they call me ‘sexy Mary’ or whatever because I’m not sensitive about joking stuff. But I really don’t want this to be a thing with us. Lampo was suggesting like a ‘slutty night’ or whatever to get me to feel pretty, and (other than that being like fucking Pluto far away if my comfort zone is Kansas City) I just didn’t want to.
I don’t think I’m pretty. I don’t think I’m like fucking ugly or anything, but I just don’t think I’m pretty. And maybe five years ago I was really self-conscious about it and wished I was, but honestly now, it’s a non-issue, and I want it to stay that way. Sure I have the odd moment where I wish I was fucking gorgeous like Callan or whoever, but it’s just something I’ve come to accept. I’m not the pretty girl in the room, and it can fucking suck that nobody pays attention to you for that, but in the end, really I’ve accepted it and I’d rather just not think about it than have somebody be trying to fix it.
It’s like the difference between confidence and self-esteem for me. Confidence I don’t have. I can’t walk around and strut my stuff (okay, what am I, 13?) because I don’t think I’ve got the right. I’m-not-pretty and who-wants-to-see-that, that sort of thing. But I do have self-esteem. Just because I’m not hot doesn’t mean I’m not worth anything. I still think I’m worth something, and I still like myself (at least most of the time). I still appreciate myself for other reasons, and I accept that I’m not pretty, and it’s not a big deal. Being pretty doesn’t define my worth.
And it’s not that I don’t believe they actually think I am pretty. I’m not sitting here being paranoid and thinking “they’re just saying that to make me feel better about having a butt face,” I just don’t think they’re right. And whatever, maybe that’s weird and doesn’t make any sense at all, but it’s true. I don’t have any reason to think I’m pretty. People don’t check me out. And you know, then there’s the only guy who ever did say I was beautiful and how well that went. (Which is a self-esteem problem for another day.) So I guess I’m just trying to justify my incredible uncomfortable-ness with that whole conversation. Like I actually couldn’t just sit there while Lampo told Kip about this. I could feel my face burning and my flight instincts just went “get your fucking ass up right now, I don’t even care what you do, just get the fuck out right fucking now”. And I know that’s stupid, because in and of itself, the whole thing is not a big deal at all. But it’s like when Lucy said that one thing at lunch, and I literally freaked out and ran away. There are certain things I just can’t deal with.
And really, the not being able to deal with stuff like that is a bigger deal to me than not being pretty. That’s something I really need to get over for everyday life, whereas really, being not pretty is not the end of the world – at least not to me. And it’s not like there’s no hope. My mom’s really beautiful, and I look mostly like her, so maybe eventually I’ll turn out alright. And if not, there’s always plastic surgery. (That’s a joke, that’s fucking disgusting. I could never do plastic surgery. That’s one of those few things I just cannot be open to debate about.) (Okay, overreaction. It’s not that bad, but I’m not sure I believe in it, personally.)