I have a mirror next to my bed. It's a cool vintage full length mirror that my grandpa gave to my dad, and then my dad gave to me. Most days I like this mirror. It confirms whether or not I'm satisfied with the outfit I've picked out, whether or not my ass looks like the size of a pickup truck, or whether or not I feel svelte and debonair. But sometimes, when my alarm goes off, I roll over pretending not to hear the dreaded reminder of early morning and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Sometimes I have to blink twice and clear my eyes to ensure what I'm seeing isn't some homeless person who snuck into my bed for a full nights rest, but it is in fact me, hair going in all directions, eyes slightly poufy, no makeup and a pissed off scowl to boot. It's nothing short of horrifying.
You see, from a young age I've always been under the impression that ladies wake up with flowing luscious hair, with a perfectly chipper face and naturally we are supposed to run to the window, spring it open and let the little blue birds land on our finger and sing us a morning song all while the wind blows through our stunning tresses.
This has yet to happen in my life.
Like I said a typical morning results in me looking severely homeless, and I'm constantly haunted by certain voices in my family, asking why I don't date or where my boyfriend is, and me giving them a sarcastic response like "Well, if you'd see me in the morning you'd know why I'm single" and they then awkwardly laugh, feel kind of bad for me and then toy with the idea of whether I'm a lesbian or a strange recluse.
I'm not. A lesbian that is.
My sister and my mom gave me a lesbian time limit when I was in high school. My sister, who is absolutely stunning might I add, said "If you don't have a boyfriend by your sophomore year of high school, then you're probably a lesbian." My mother graciously said "No, if she doesn't have one by junior year, then maybe something is up." Thanks for looking out Mom.
Apparently, my ridiculous posters of N*SYNC and my obsession for all things Leonardo DiCaprio wasn't enough to convince them that I wasn't harboring same sex tendencies.
I could just see my mom telling the family, "Yes, Kelley is just as gorgeous as ever, all the boys are drooling over her and Colleen, well, she's just as smart and funny as ever…no attention from the boys, but that's okay, she may be a lesbian, and you know what I support her 100%."
The thought of these conversations happening between my mom and other family members really bothered me, for the shear fact, that I think they aren’t putting all the facts into play. My sister, looks like a Barbie doll with excellent hair and perfect skin and eats whatever she wants and maybe weighs 110lbs, where as I look like a Cabbage Patch doll, and have very bizarre hair and the pastiest skin this side of the Mississippi. Not to mention I watch very carefully what I eat, but I am still convinced my sister did some kind of magic trick when I was born to ensure that whatever she eats, I gain the weight for her. My sister gets hit on by the hot waiter, and I get hit on my the homeless man who really only wants the 50 cents he saw me drop from my purse. My sister has a gorgeous baby, and while I’ve yet to have kids, and won’t for some time, I can only imagine that my child will come out of the womb with his right leg attached to his forehead. You know, for consistency’s sake.
Although it is comforting to know that I have a family that supports me as a lesbian, even if it is a little disappointing to them, that I am as straight as ever.
Coming from a genetically blessed family is a burden.
Just when you thought starving children in Africa had it hard…