Just One of the Boys (Sometimes Sucks)

I play myself off as confident, but I’m really not.  I am actually very insecure, especially about the way I look.  I have always been this way.  It started young when kids made fun of the size of my lips– I was coined Nipsey Russell in grade school.  Then in middle school, Dave Satula made me feel bad about my body.  When I made the cheerleading squad, he used to make whale sounds every time he passed me.  It shouldn’t be a surprise that I learned how to make myself throw up before I was fourteen.

I broke myself of bulimia in my early twenties.  I knew it was unhealthy and wrong, and I had a handle on my self-esteem (sort of).  I had turned into an exerciser, and much of the baby fat and the teenage chunk had faded away.  I got as comfortable as I could in my skin– however, I second guessed every comment, every look, and every situation, always feeling that all the other girls were prettier, skinnier, and more attractive.

Now, I have been married for almost fifteen years and my husband makes me feel pretty.  On most going-out occasions, he compliments me on my outfit.  He often tells me I am pretty.  He makes me feel good about myself to such an extent, I forget about how I used to feel, how most of the time, I felt inadequate.

However, last night, I was reminded.  Last night, Tom and I attended the 40th birthday party of our very good friend, Scott.  Personally, I have known him for about seventeen years.  He was in a group of friends who used to come into my parents’ bar on a regular basis.  We went from a business relationship– “That’ll be twelve dollars for the round”– to a more personal relationship– “Tom and I are getting married in Las Vegas, I hope you can make it.”  Yes, we have been friends for a number of years.

Anyway, many of the people at the party were people I knew from “The Gazette Days.”  I happened to walk up on a conversation between two of the men nostalgically discussing those years.

(Names have been changed to protect my friends.)

“Dude, you dated Victoria, right?  I dated Victoria after you.”

“Yeah, I remember.  I moved on to Brittany.”

“Dude, she was sooooooo hot.  You lucked out with her.”

“Yeah, we were together for a while.  What about Cindy?  I thought she was smoking hot.”

“Yeah.  I forgot about her.  I think I hooked up with her one night.”

“God, there were so many good-looking girls back then.  We were lucky.”

I stood behind this conversation and listened.  All of my friends from fifteen years ago were mentioned.  They were all “hot” and “cool”  and “sexy”.

The unconfident-self surfaced.  What about me?  I was in the same group of friends as every girl they mentioned.  I know that they kissed almost everyone in the group.  But never once was I hit on.  Never once, did they think of me in that way.

At some point, a girl can only think that she cannot and does not measure up to the other girls.  “Always a bridesmaid and never the bride.”

15+ years later, these boys are my friends.  They do not have relationships with any of the other women, I know this to be true.  But just once, I wish they would have made a move, just so that I could feel like I was someone attractive and not just the girl they liked to drink beer and throw darts with.


6 thoughts on “Just One of the Boys (Sometimes Sucks)

  1. I was just one of the guys too. Trust me – they have way too much respect for you to just hook up with you or talk about you like that. They valued your friendship more and weren’t willing to tarnish it. That’s something to hold your head up high about!

  2. Ahhh Cheryl … *hugs you*

    I am sorry that you were made to feel so badly when you were younger. And I am sorry that the feeling surfaced again the other night.

    Yes … I am with the others … there may have been reasons why you were not hit or or spoken about. (Maybe last night they knew you were within earshot and didn’t want to seem rude and say such a thing about you in front of you? Not sure.)

    But I also know … our minds play these feckin horrid games with ourselves yes? And sometimes no matter how we try to find a reason, it just does not come.

    Do wish someone back then had hit on you and kissed you? Yes and no. No … you found Tom … and things went the way it was meant. Yes … because I don’t like that you feel badly about yourself.

    Now … go kiss your wonderful husband … and see if he hits on you *smiles*

  3. Pingback: Random Thoughts Day 7: Desire | Life As I Understand It.

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